Nature vs Nurture
by Gabrielle821
Summary: AU, H/G, Ginny finds herself in a dire situation. She has only one ally. A boy who barely speaks, cowers before her captors and lacks free will. With his help she fights her captors, and with her help he fights the battle of his nature vs. nurture.
1. Chapter 1

Part One

The fight behind the deep brown eyes had him curious from day one. Fear he could see, well concealed under determination and . . . hate. Hate, he knew that look all too well. Such a powerful, easily recognizable, emotion, it almost always served as ominous foreshadowing of the inevitable accumulation of said emotion. But in her eyes, the hate was securely coupled with resolve. He almost feared for her captors . . .almost. She was unlike anything he had ever seen before. He would have envied her and her strength to fight, if it hadn't been for her current predicament. He continued to stare at her, as he had since she had arrived, from around the corner, where, for once, he was abandoning the command to fix their next meal.

"Tell us the truth! We will get the veritaserum soon enough. Tell us the truth and avoid some Crucios!"

"Yeah, I think I'll wait for one of you clowns to figure out how to brew it." Her fiery response surprised him. The ensuing violence did not, of course she'd be punished, he knew that all too well. But how was she still fighting them? How much longer could she last?

"Crucio!"

Her pain did strange things to him, usually his eyes were concentrated at the task he'd been ordered to accomplish if not on his feet, but now he felt hypnotized as he stared at her. What had started as silent anguish, was now very vocal cries of agony. A strange feeling, like a hot pressure against the center of his sternum overcame him. The feeling threatened to break the careful rules of survival he had created for himself. Don't speak, follow orders, and accept the hand you've been dealt. Involuntarily, he took a step forward, toward her and toward the room that they had her in. He froze when he realized what he was doing. He hitched up the makeshift shorts trying to bring himself back to the reality of the life he led before she had crashed in.

"Clowns?" Lucius sneered at her. "You're one to talk," he said brushing her red hair off her face she flinched violently and pulled against the magical restraints they kept her arms suspended over her head from the ceiling.

"Tell us where it is?"

"On Wrackspurt Isle with the Crumpled Horn Snorkack."

A high pitch feminine voice cackled as a woman entered. Her grating voice reverberated off the walls. Like finger nails on a chalkboard, it made him cringe, fearful of what would happen next. When did she get here? The boy couldn't help his desperate wonderings.

"She's kind of a funny one, isn't she?" Bellatrix asked as she tilted her head questioningly at the restrained girl. The resounding crack of flesh on flesh filled the entirety of sound space. The perfect, recently healed face of the girl was now marred by an angry red handprint, but still, the eyes held such strength. She was not giving up. In the darkness that was his unending hopelessness there was a sudden light.

"Why did you take the girl? What makes you think she has the information we seek?" He watched as Lucius haughtily rolled his eyes at his sister-in-law.

"Oh I think she knows. I think she may have quite a bit of insight into our master's mind, but think about the possibilities even if she knows nothing. She's still the only girl, and the youngest, of a large family. Filthy, dirt poor, blood traitors they may be, but they are involved with the Ministry and with Dumbledore. She's probably the most useful bait ever obtained. Many will stupidly go to the lamb to protect the girl."

"You really think the _Weasleys_ know the details of the Voldemort's past? Filthy blood traitors that they are."

"I have a feeling they might, and if not, surely they will go to Dumbledore to give in to our demands and retrieve their only, little, precious, baby girl." At this the girl fought hard, though fruitlessly against her restraints, earning another round of crucios. How much could one person withstand? Lucius kicked her gut and punched her in the face for good measure. She was left panting struggling to recover her breath. She had barely recovered from the last round of their torture.

"Boy! Where's our food?"

The boy's eyes snapped down to the dinner on the stove, quickly taking their dinner off the heat. He would have been hoping for the food to not taste as overdone as he feared it was, if he understood such a concept as hope. He quickly assembled the meal onto a platter and hurried into the next room.

* * *

Blood blurred her vision as the latest blow left a stinging cut across her forehead causing blood to slowly crawl down her face leaving heated tracks in its wake. She had to get out of this. She couldn't let them get the information from her. They couldn't know just how privy she was to the inner workings of Riddle's mind. She couldn't let them use her to hurt her family. She continued her mental mantra, trying to hold on to her sanity and not give in, as her body so desperately desired. She turned to the corner as a boy walked in, hunched over the platter of food he was carrying. He sulked in as if trying to blend into his surroundings. He wore nothing but that same sort of cloth sack with holes cut for his feet and a rope belt . . .same as always.

Ever since she had first seen the boy, she knew. She knew he didn't belong here. Her heart clenched at the sight of him, long, dirty, unkempt hair, scars bared to the world by the little . . . very little clothing he wore and that face, a face that haunted her. His eyes were dead, almost always staring at the floor as he scuttled about the feet of her captors, desperately trying to avoid their rebuttal. The site of him gave her such perspective. He was, quite obviously, much worse off than she. At first, a part of her, the dark part that no one likes to admit to having, felt comforted by the reminder that there was always, always, someone worse off . . .

He seemed unable to stop himself from following their commands. She wondered if they used magic to force him into submission. Why not just imperius him to do the tasks they demanded willingly? Her captors were obviously no strangers to the unforgivable curses. She wondered if they enjoyed the way they treated him and again felt sick to her stomach.

But now, seeing him again gave her a new kind of comfort. He was her ally. He was working against them. She wanted to squelch her own hope. She wanted to stay aloof and untrusting. She wanted to remember that he could be luring her into a false sense of security . . . but she couldn't help it. It felt like he was fighting . . . fighting for her.

A while ago, it could have been days, it could have been weeks, they had sent him to her. In the dazed fog the most recent round of crucios had created she remembered . . .

_ "Mop her up boy! We have to see how much damage we've caused. We can't kill her . . . not yet at least."_

_ She was beyond terror, beyond caring, as she had felt the swelling of her face start to affect her range of vision. She could only see directly in front of her. But she did hear her torturers leave the room. _

_ He stood in front of her, his careful mask finally broken. He shot a fearful glance to the door at the far side of the room and then reached up to the chains that suspended her. She felt them slowly length so that there was less pressure on her shoulders. She was shocked at how much pain left her as she was finally able to let her body collapse to the floor. He fell to his knees also, and with another surreptitious glance to the door, he snapped his fingers over the bowl of water before him. _

_ In her altered state of mind she wasn't sure the steam she saw rising from the bowl was real or not. Then, he slowly brought a wet cloth toward her. She flinched away reflexively. Every touch for the last, Merlin knows how long, had inflicted pain. The gentle warmth surprised her more than anything. He held the cloth up again, his green eyes met hers, for the first time. He seemed to beg her with his eyes to trust him and she wanted so desperately to comply. An errant thought made her wonder if he had used some sort of magic on her, as he slowly used the warm towel to wash away the blood and dirt sure to be covering her face. Then it dawned on her, of course, here, kindness would seem like magic . . . _

_ The warmth of the cloth helped the dirt and blood come off easily, but her face ached and pulsated with heat. He laid the back of his hand gently against her swollen cheek, feeling that heat. He placed the cloth flat in his hand and then snapped his fingers over it again. When he returned it to her face, she sighed at the coolness. It was the perfect remedy for the throbbing heat. _

_ For a moment she thought she might cry. She felt hope, like maybe she could get out of this. It was a feeling she had almost lost her hold on, and that scared her. _

"_Please," she whispered. "Can't you get us out of here?" _

_He looked surprised for a moment and then his body began to shake like it was straining to lift something at least twice his body weight. _

"_I c-caaan't," his voice was deep, jagged as he spoke the words at once filled with pain and regret. He moved the still cold towel to the other side of her face and with his right hand he snapped his fingers again this time something appeared._

_He handed it to her. "Food," he said urgently. She looked at the small round shape curiously. It was barely recognizable. But from the ragging pain in her empty stomach she knew she had little choice in whether to trust him or not. She wouldn't be able to fight her torturers without any sustenance and she didn't want to live if she couldn't fight them off. So she popped the shape into her mouth. It didn't taste like much but almost as soon as she swallowed that seemingly unquenchable pain in her stomach lessened and she began to feel refreshed. _

She breathed deeply trying to school her mind to the present. It was in that moment that she had redoubled her efforts to fight back. It was him she had to thank for still knowing who she was . . . and why she fought.

"Well hurry up boy," Lucius said, but it rang like a command. The boy moved even faster, but his movements were stilted as if he was walking against the current of a stream. His eyes slid sideways to hers. Ginny was captivated. His eyes in that moment conveyed an overwhelming sense of desperation and compassion. He was worried . . . He was worried _about her_. He slowly turned his back to her as he placed the food in front of his captors. Ginny's eyes widened as she saw the angry welts that stood out in harsh contrast with the rippling muscles of his bare back as he quickly set the table before them. She felt a deep pang of empathy for the boy who had shown her kindness in such dire circumstances.

He turned and looked at her almost shyly, willing her with his eyes to stay quiet. He backed up now facing her captors and extended his hand back toward her. Surprise flitted across her face. More food. What was he risking by bringing her food? She grabbed it on instinct to quell the scorching hunger in her stomach, but she couldn't dare eat it and risk getting this boy into further trouble. Who was he? He had to be near her age . . .

"Yuck!" Plates clattered to the floor as Lucius threw the table over, launching it at the boy who jumped back in order to avoid being hit.

"You feed us this filth boy? Your order was to fix a meal worthy of us. This isn't even fit to feed creatures like you!"

Ginny cringed back expecting Lucius to become violent with the boy, but he didn't . . . he didn't have to. The boy hurried over to corner of the brick fireplace and started hitting his head against it, repeatedly. Blood spilled down his face as he turned to her his back to the others. His muscles were shaking with the effort to control himself. That one look was like a fleeting glance into the window of his internal struggle, before he was back at the fireplace sticking his hands in over the raging fires.

"No!" Ginny screamed. "Stop it. Whatever you are doing to him stop it."

They just laughed in response.

"What are you doing to him?"

"Absolutely nothing you stupid girl. He is punishing himself. He'll stop when he has endured as much pain as he possibly can while still being able to do what is asked of him."

Ginny looked appalled. Knowing her words would have little to no effect she couldn't restrain herself from yelling a diatribe at the two before her.

"You have no right to treat another creature that way! I don't care how he came to be here or how special you think your blood is! No one deserves to be treated this way."

She was so occupied by her own rage and with yelling at her captors that she did not notice the look on the boy's face. He held his burnt hands out in front of him, letting the blood flow freely from his face, yet he was in too much shock to feel the pain. She reminded him of a friend, his only friend, someone that he hadn't seen in ages. This idea of freedom, as a universal right seemed so strange to him. He could feel a great internal shifting like all of a sudden there was not enough room in his chest for his lungs to take in the air he so desperately needed. And then she turned her fierce gaze on him.

"Are you alright?" He staggered back.

"Kitchen now boy!" The command forced him to move and he back peddled out of the room. His eyes remained locked on the girl before him. He stumbled as he tried to prolong the time he had the girl in his sights. He turned the corner and took a deep breath sagging against the kitchen's wall. Everything about the girl was so foreign to him. It was like she had some sort of power over him. She didn't grovel or beg like others in the past had; she didn't back down at all. She spoke her mind righteously. Her existence was so implausible to him. Perhaps she did not understand the consequences of her defiance. That was the only way he could make sense of it. She had shown him more regard in two minutes then had ever been shown to him before. She asked him such a simple question about his well-being. Should such a thing be so strange?

He shook his had trying to recover himself and went back to preparing a more acceptable meal, though he knew he was due for more punishment regardless . . .regardless. Confusion plagued his features. It felt like the first time he had put on his glasses. Everything snapped into focus, with dizzying speed. Even colors seemed brighter. She somehow made clear the blurry lines that had dictated his world. No matter what he did, it would result in pain, no matter what he did, he would always be a lower being to them. So why _should_ he obey? Why take it? What if they were wrong? What if he wasn't a creature truly undeserving of more in life? What _if _the girl was right? Her words, so foreign to him, were repeating in an endless loop in his mind, 'you have no right . . .' 'no one deserves to be treated this way'. She had been so certain . . . As certain as he had been that he deserved this life.

The cry of "crucio" was the only augury to the shriek of sheer anguish that broke him from his reflective reverie. All of a sudden, it felt like ice water ran through his veins replacing the normal warmth of blood. His heart started to hammer pumping the ice water faster as it took over his whole system. Something was wrestling free from his body; something that had been forced to be dormant much longer than was healthy. He suddenly had the strength to overcome the compulsion of his latest order.

* * * *

"Tell us where it is!" She could barely hear the demand over her labored breathing.

"How the hell am I supposed to know where his father was buried?" She cried outraged as soon as she had the breath to response.

"We know," Lucius said darkly, pausing to let the phrase sink in. "Who do you think slipped you that diary!?"

For the first time since she was brought to this horrible place she was silent, no quick rejoinder to force some levity into her desperate situation. He's the one. _He_ gave her the diary. Did he know how much Tom had shared with her?

Lucius laughed as her carefully constructed emotional defense crumpled. For the first time she let him see her pain. It felt like he had beaten her twice. After a shaky breath she strengthened her resolve.

"Oh I bet you both are just squirming with jealousy. It seems I have been closer to Tom then you ever dreamed of being. How old did you think the diary version of Tom was?" She forced a laugh out of her restricted throat praying they fell for her bravado. "Are you really that . . .uninformed? Did your so-called master even tell you when he made the diary? Do you really think _he_ knew _who_ his father was by then?" Another laugh, add a smirk, she coached herself. Bellatrix looked outraged, Lucius confused. They were taking the bait.

"CRUCIO!" Both simultaneously sent the curse her way. Her scream permeated to the kitchen where it reached the boy's ears. It served as a catalyst breaking what bound him.

She tasted blood in her mouth, salty, rusty. Unavoidable tears streamed down her face and stung the open wounds there. The magical bounds kept her standing, supporting now, instead of restraining. But at least they were angry. Angry was so much better than calculating. She had to take their minds off the diary or they might resort to unsafe and painful forms of occulumency. She had achieved her goal, but at what price? How much longer could she stand this? Another kick to connected with her gut. Maybe she'd overshot, but they were certainly beyond reason. She stared at the shiny bright red dots on the floor below her. For a second she marveled at how pretty the color was, before she realized that she was now coughing up blood.

"Boy! What are you doing? Get back to the kitchen!"

Ginny was struggling to stay present and conscious, something was happening around her. The air crackled, like it does before a storm, foreboding.

"No." The word slipped out quietly, but it was scratchy, like his voice hadn't been used in a while. Ginny's vision was suddenly obscured by the boy. He was standing between her and her torturers crouched in defense. His posture was almost animalistic. He was protecting her. Surprise flitted over Ginny's face mixed with relief. One ally, that was all she needed to hope she could get out of this with her family safe and intact.

Lucius and Bellatrix were in shock. The boy hadn't shown an inkling of resistance since they had taken away his little 'friend.'

"What are you doing boy!?" Lucius demanded.

"I . . . I don't know," he replied but his voice was deep with purpose and his defensive crouch didn't let up.

"Stop." Lucius' tone filled with surprise, shocked that he even had to give the order. He held his hand out to stop Bellatrix from reacting.

Ginny watched tense, confused as hell as to what was happening. The boy began to shake all over, like he was straining every muscle in his body.

"No." His own voice was filled with surprise.

"I said, STOP." His shaking intensified and he lowered as if cowering under the command. Ginny didn't understand what was happening, but she could tell whatever the boy was fighting it was taking all of him.

"You can do it," She said softly ignoring Bellatrix squeal of frustration. "You deserve more than this. Whatever it is, fight it." Her tone was soft, pleading, unlike anything that he had heard before.

"Crucio!" Through the pain he heard her gasp. Gasp like she cared that he was in pain . . . Something else he knew instinctively _shouldn't_ be so strange to him.

"Enough!" The boy finally yelled, his face crunched with concentration. Suddenly Lucius' back was against the far wall in the room.

Bellatrix looked outraged. "You worthless little freak!" She rushed at him and pointed her wand at the girl behind him. "Ava-

The boy whipped toward Ginny grabbing her arm and continued to spin. Ginny's vision blurred as she felt herself being torn from the world. Was this what death felt like? She landed with a thud next to the boy on a soft grassy plain. Pain, lots of pain, was all she registered. And then it dawned on her, pain, so that wasn't death. That was apparation. She turned and saw the boy on his hands and knees coughing, shaking. She angled herself into his line of sight.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" He scouted back away from her instinctively and pulled his knees to his chest, shaking. They just stared at each other for a moment.

"Where are we?" she asked softly. He looked all around him and saw nothing but grassy land. His confusion was answer enough. There was no one anywhere nearby, as was evident by the vacuum of sound. The tall grass swayed with the zephyr, as they lay nearly concealed in the empty plain. He was still shaking.

"Seriously, are you okay?"

"Me?" He chuckled darkly. He held his hand out, slowly extending it to her face, but stopped just short of it. His attention brought hers to her face. Her skin felt tight and restricted as she tried to move the muscles in her face. Her blood had solidified there and cracked under her movements. With this new awareness came the pain. It hit her swiftly, surprising her. The adrenaline was slowly leaving her system as it left, pain flooded in, filling the vacancy. She said shifting to put less strain on her aching midsection.

"Are _you_ alright?" he asked her, true concern audible even though his voice barely reached hers.

"I will be . . . How did we get here? Did you apparate us here?"

He looked sheepish. "I don't know. I just . . . I wanted. . " he trailed off looking away from her.

"Go ahead." She coaxed at then just looked at him expectantly.

After a few moments of silence he swallowed. "I wanted to get you out of there."

"Thank-you." She smiled at him, a real smile. "You saved my life." He looked so uncomfortable in that moment that she thought he would accidentally apparate away from her. ". . .And your own by the looks of things," she added leadingly. She watched as every muscle in his body innervated. Which only brought her attention to his strange attire it was almost as if . . .

"How long have you been there?" Out of nowhere she was so tired. How long had _she_ been there? She struggled to stay conscious as the boy in front of her contemplated her question.

Finally he responded. "As long as I can remember." Her heart broke, literally. That, that hell-hole, was all he knew. She wondered again how he had landed in such a predicament.

She was staring into his eyes, which were unbridled, his depression as evident as the fact that his eyes were green.

"I'm sorry . . .that you've had to live like that. It's not right.

He squinted his eyes at her as if confused, like he was trying to see her better. He shook his head back trying to get his long unruly hair out of his eyes.

Ginny gasped. It couldn't be, was all she could think. But there it was, brilliant red against pale skin.

"Merlin. . ." She breathed out. "You're Harry Potter." She didn't even have time to register his confusion as she finally passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

He felt unsafe, exposed in this area. She unnerved him so much with her questions and her concern for him. Her emotions were so blatant, readily interpretable, like she had nothing to hide. He'd never known a person who so openly expressed how they were feeling, besides anger of course, the only acceptable emotion in the world he knew. After several minutes of deliberation he picked her up. It was rather easy in fact, all that physical labor had at least made him strong, despite how underfed he was. He held her close, cradled against him. Her hair tickled his chest when the wind blew it against him. In the breeze he could detect a distinct smell of fish. He walked against the direction of the breeze hoping it would lead him to water.

She had called him something before she passed out. Harry. It struck something deep inside him, like a dream he couldn't remember. Harry. It felt right. Could he be who she thought he was? Harry. What else did she say? Potter? Harry Potter. It felt _right_. He felt a fluttering in his consciousness, like remembering a dream and losing sight of the line between reality and imagination. As he continued, the once flat ground seemed to be inclining slightly, as he reached the precipice he realized they were on a very rolling plain and just below was a bit of an oasis. A pond, a big one, was a very welcome site. The dense foliage would have been pretty to most, but to him it represented safety, a much easier place to hide. He set her down gently near the water's edge. He cupped his hands filled with water and tried to help her drink. It seemed that wasn't going to work. He'd just have to wait for her to wake up on her own.

* * * *

Ginny came to, abruptly, gasping for air and sitting up straight immediately. There was no moment of blissful unawareness. Everything that had happened, that was happening, was present in her mind, in every excruciating detail. She looked up and met those green eyes. Harry, she wasn't sure how, but his name was Harry. He was the Boy Who Lived, the Lost Boy, part myth, and part legend. He was the one who made Riddle go away. Everyone in the wizarding world knew the story of his tragic childhood, hair like his dad, eyes like his mum and the lighting bolt scar on his forehead. . . just like the stories said.

Ginny remembered her brother Ron's first year so clearly. She had been so sad to seem him go, her last brother. That was when Harry Potter's story grew more mysterious. During Ron's first year people started doing the math, wondering where the famous Harry Potter would be attending school. Everyone wanted to know why Harry wasn't attending a wizarding school. Finally, Dumbledore revealed the boy had vanished, disappeared from the care of his Aunt and Uncle just before he was two years old. Ginny remembered clearly how panicked she had been at age ten when she learned something might have happened to the hero of her favorite bedtime stories. That's when the myths were born. The boy held too much magic in him to stay on this earth, or the boy's purpose was to vanquish the Voldemort having done that, he vanished. Some even believed that Harry Potter was never really a boy but some sort of manufactured weapon from the Department of Mysteries sent to destroy Voldemort. Some worried something more sinister was at play, but ten years after the Voldemort had disappeared, no one wanted to believe in the possibility of foul play. No one wanted to consider that the boy who had made all of their lives better had slipped through the cracks.

Finally, she realized that she had closed her eyes again during her musings. She forced them open, if only to see if her imagination had fabricated the shape of the scar on his forehead. When she took in his expression she grew alarmed. Anguish. It was written all over his face. She looked down and saw him digging his fingers nails into the fragile skin on the inside of both of his forearms. His arms were crossed as he dragged his nails downward toward his wrists, leaving long, vibrantly red, scratches.

"Stop," she said alarmed.

"I can't," his breathing was labored. "You need to run."

"What?"

"You need to run away, from me. I am fighting, with everything I have, not to grab you and return to where we came from."

"What!? No!"

"It's getting stronger. I don't know how much longer I can fight it."

"Fight what?"

"I cannot disobey them. I have to return and I _must_ be punished."

"No! Please listen. You can fight this. Harry, please!" He looked at her sharply when she used his name. She noticed that the pressure he was exerting on his now bloody forearms lessened so she pressed further.

"Yes, I think your name is Harry. Harry Potter. What do you go by now?"

"What?" he asked, confused by her distraction.

"Your name."

"Harry?" he asked and the ripping of his own flesh stopped unexpectedly. He looked down in shock at his bloody forearms as the compulsion left his body.

"Yes," she said cautiously approaching him. "There is a story, of a lost boy with hair like yours," he froze as she was only a breath away from him now, "eyes like yours and," Her hand slowly rose to his forehead, "and, a lighting bolt shaped scar on his forehead," she finished tracing said scar in the gentlest of ways. To say he looked shocked was to say Dumbledore was pretty good at magic. "He would be sixteen or seventeen years old by now, the same age as my brother Ron. You _do_ look about his age."

"I don't understand," he stated.

She paused a moment, deliberating. "We need to get you help, you've lost too much blood today. And neither of us has eaten in awhile, as far as I can tell. I promise, I'll explain later." He nodded wary.

"Can you get us out of here?"

"I think so . . ."

"Good we can go back to my house . . . the Burrow."

"Do you think it will be safe?"

"Yes. I think it's probably safer than—" she cut off abruptly at the sound of voices from a different part of the plain. "We have to get out of here," she said grabbing Harry urgently.

"Describe it," he said in hushed tones. "The Burrow. Where is it? What does it look like?" He closed his eyes intently imagining her home soaking in every detail she gave in urgent whispers.

"Okay . . .here we go." And they were off. They landed right at the walkway of the burrow. Harry was panting and shaking again, like he had just sprinted a marathon while carry cinderblocks. She supported him as she heaved him toward her door desperate for the safety and comfort she knew the Burrow would provide.

"Mum! Dad!" Suddenly the whole Weasley clan was pouring out of the door.

"Ginny! Oh Merlin!" A horror no mother should have to see, greeted Mrs. Weasley as she pushed her sons out of the way. Her daughter's face was swollen, distorted and blood was caked everywhere, as if her hair wasn't red enough.

"Help me with him. He's worse off than I am." Two of her brothers ignored their shock and confusion and quickly removed the barely clothed boy's weight from Ginny and carried him swiftly into the house, while the rest of them helped Ginny. She limped a second when Bill suddenly swooped her into his arms.

"If there was ever a time that I get to get away with babying my little sister it's now." He stated gruffly to rebuke any ridiculous objections. Ginny sagged against him.

She took a deep breath as they entered the Burrow. "It's so good to be home," she said, tears of relief soaking Bill's shirt. At this, the uncertain silence of her family broke and the house filled with sound. Some were laughing with relief, her mom's crying intensified, and Bill squeezed her closely. Ginny couldn't cover the wince his movement elicited and Bill swiftly laid her on the couch. She tried to sit up but five sets of hands restrained her.

"Okay," she said lying down, too relieved to fight. "Where is he?" she asked swatting her brothers out of her line of sight. "Where's Harry?"

"Who?"

"The boy. He saved me. Dad, he got me out of there. . . I swear I didn't tell Lucius anything."

"Lucius!" The word slipped like an explicative off of several tongues.

"Stop," she said weakly trying to cut off their anger before it turned to recklessness. "Harry?" She heard him coughing and turned her head to see where he was leaning over the edge of the other couch parallel to hers. It seemed it was his turn to cough up blood. He fell to the floor and then pulled his head back. Ginny knew what was coming this time.

"No!' she cried out, trying to get up, but found herself being restrained by her family again. "Stop him," she said desperately. His head smashed into the floorboards. Quickly Ron and Charlie had him under control though he flailed against them desperately trying to fight them off.

"Harry. It's okay. It's over. They can't hurt you." His eyes met hers for one last second as his fighting ceased, before they rolled back into his head and he crumpled to the floor.

"What in Merlin's name is going on!?" The twins yelled together. Ginny relaxed against the couch, relieved as Ron and Charlie helped the now unconscious Harry back onto the couch. He was safe, passed out, injured, but she felt fortified knowing her family would help. She let her eyes close it was much easier to enjoy the fact she was home when she wasn't staring at panicked, worried eyes. The smell, that home smell, filled her senses. It was a smell she never expected to experience again. The faintest shadow of a smile graced her lips. She opened her eyes to see her dad lean over a place a kiss on her forehead.

"Oh Ginny, we were so worried . . ."

She took a deep breath. "I'm okay."

"You are _not_ okay." Percy said looking at her in alarm. The clipped tone of his voice revealed how she looked to him.

"I will be soon enough," she stated earnestly.

"Ginny, I need you to tell me exactly where you are hurt, and don't understate any of it." Ginny couldn't help but feel relieved to hear her mother's familiar don't-you-mess-with-me-because-I-know-when-you-are-lying tone. Every little thing about her family, even things that once irritated her seemed invaluable now, like something to cherish.

"Most of it's superficial. My head is pounding and my face feels strange. But mostly, I just am really tired and I haven't eaten much since I've been gone. My muscles ache from the crucios." Her family winced and their initial anger and concern returned full force.

"Is there anything else?" Her mum demanded and Ginny hesitated. "Ginny," her mother stated warningly.

"Um, my stomach. I don't know if its my ribs or . . ." seeing their alarm she added, "it was just a couple of kicks."

"That's it," George said. "They have to pay for this." Fred and Ron stood up with him looking murderous. They all started talking at once. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley tried to calm everyone down. The boys were fighting, all trying to speak over each other. Each was determined to find an outlet for their tumultuous rage.

"Boys! Please!" They all stopped at the pleading note in her voice as she struggled off the couch. "Please, calm down. I can't take anymore. I can't . . . Do you have any idea how hard I worked to keep them from you, to keep them from using _me_ to hurt any of you. The whole time . . . every second, I was solely focused on getting out of there, on staying silent, so that you all would be safe! I'll be damned if I let you idiots go after them!" Through her tear filled eyes she could see her brothers' guiltily faces as they berated themselves for getting her riled up.

"Okay, okay," Charlie said holding his hands up as if in surrender. "We'll stop, if you lay down and relax," he concluded.

"Honesty what I really want is to go get cleaned up."

"Okay hun," her mother said, willing at this point to do anything to keep her happy and eager to wash the blood away to assess the severity of her wounds. Charlie and Bill were at her side immediately helping her toward the bathroom. Her mother followed her in. She turned to all her boys standing in the doorway.

"Boys, your sister is almost sixteen years old. Skedaddle." At that she shut the door in their faces and Ginny was grateful for the reprieve from all of their anxious stares. They all shuffled back to the living room. Percy went to the kitchen to fix some tea, needing to keep busy.

"What do we do now?" Ron asked turning to his dad. Mr. Weasley took a deep breath as his six sons turned to him with expectant looks. They had been unable to help their sister when she needed them the most. He could see the feeling of uselessness covering their faces. They were all filled with pent up frustration and they all expected him to have the answer. They expected him to be able to tell them how to handle this, how to make it better. He never felt less capable of giving his children what they needed.

"We give her time. We are going to have to contact Dumbledore I think. He'll know better how to handle this. I'm afraid we're just going to have to play it by ear boys."

"But they'll pay right? They'll pay for what they did to her." Mr. Weasley turned to his youngest son, wishing he could truthfully reassure him. "We will do everything we can. What's important is that she's safe."

At the sound of stirring, all heads turned to the couch.

* * * * *

"Mum," Ginny called as she pulled the shower curtain closed.

"Yes, dear?"

"Will you stay with me?"

Mrs. Weasley's eyes squeezed shut, her heart clenched, but she responded evenly. "Of course." She paused just listening to the sound of her only daughter breathing. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. A little light headed. I've been thinking about a home cooked meal for days. I would focus on what I'd want to eat first when I made it home. It was a good distraction."

Mrs. Weasley was tense. She desperately wanted to keep Ginny talking about what happened. She knew instinctually she couldn't let her bottle it up, as much as she wanted to protect from having to relive it. "Yeah? What did you decide on?"

"Pie. Apple pie." Her mom laughed lightly.

"I think you should start with some soup, but then, of course, all the pie you want."

"That's exactly what I imagined you'd say." She winced as she reached for her towel having to stretch just a little past comfort. Her mom quickly handed it to her, taking in the angry red, purple and greens crossing her stomach.

"Maybe we should take you to St. Mungo's"

Ginny looked up in alarm as she crossed the towel firmly around herself. "No. Please. I know we'll probably have to contact Dumbledore soon. Can't we just ask him to bring Madam Pomprey? Then it will feel like just another Quidditch mishap . . . I just can't handle seeing a healer right now," she said staring at the floor. "Plus Harry is going to need medical help too I think."

"The boy downstairs?" Her mum asked handing her a fresh set of clothes.

"Yeah . . . He saved me mum." She slid into the world's most comfortable clothes, one of her brother's sweatpants and one of their overly large t-shirts. She met her mother's gaze in the mirror before her. "I'd . . . I'd still be there if it wasn't for him . . . I . . . I think he's been through a lot. He's going to need a lot of help. Mom, I think, I think he's . . ." A thump rang through the house followed by a lot of commotion. Mrs. Weasley helped Ginny out as swiftly as possible.

* * * * *

The boy stirred, shifting awkwardly against the strange surface he lay against. Suddenly his eyes fluttered open. He was surrounded. No. He thought desperately. He had got away! Or was that some cruel dream? What was this? One of the strange men stepped toward him. He got up quickly, and vaulted back over the couch. He landed on the balls of his feet, the couch protectively separating him from the others. One of them took a step forward. The boy instinctively waved his hand at a nearby chair and the chair slid across the room impeding the path of the oncoming would-be assailant.

Ginny turned the corner in time to see her brothers move back in alarm.

"Harry!" She cried. He whipped his face toward her. She was safe. She looked . . . calm? He thanked the heavens that she was real and not something his mind created in a desperate attempt to believe in the good of people.

"It's okay. These people won't hurt you. They want to help—" As she spoke he took a second to observe the others in the room. They certainly all had similarities and she seemed relaxed. Slowly he eased out of his defensive position. Ginny walked up to him, but he kept a wary eye on those surrounding him. He flinched slightly as she placed a soft hand on his arm.

"Come on. You should sit." A tense family found a place to sit, all turning to stare at Ginny and the mystery man. But none were as tense as Harry. He glanced around in wary confusion. His eyes never remained on one thing for any length of time, until his eyes drifted down to where her hands were creating a cocoon of warmth on his arm. He bent low curving his back as he ducked his head to meet her eyes. "We are not safe here. We have to go." His voice was low, the words sounded like each was a struggle to make. He made to move to stand but, Ginny gently tugged on his arm to keep him where he was.

"No. It's okay. They aren't going to hurt us. This is my family." He looked at her skeptically.

"There's too many," he mumbled and then Percy came into the room with the tea, approaching from behind Harry's shoulder. The unexpected clattering of dishes so near Harry's ear made him cower before he could even register the sound. He reflexively pulled his knees into his chest and covered his head with his hands as if he reacting to some sort of explosion

"Harry," Ginny said alarmed by the violence of his response. Harry grabbed her waist spinning her around to his back as he stood to separate her and the suspected foe. The movement was so fast that is made Ginny dizzy. Percy froze. The room was silent save for Harry's adrenaline fueled panting.

"I know this is scary right now," Ginny said quietly from behind him, without making any effort to move out of the position he put her in. "But no one here will hurt you. They want to help us." Harry's eyes followed Percy as he slowly backed further away from the pair and joined the rest of his family in their position across the room. Harry seemed to relax once he could hold all of the Weasley's in his sights at once. After a distrustful glance at Percy he turned to Ginny as if searching for something in her face. Hesitantly Harry lowered himself back to the couch and Ginny followed in suit.

Ginny held up a hand to stop the impending inquisition by her family.

"Harry? Are you okay? Are you in a lot of pain?" Ginny's voice sounded weary even to her own ears.

"Just my head." He made a vague gesture to the large bump of to the side of his forehead already developing a sickly green hue from when he had smashed it against the fireplace and then shortly later against the floor. "You?"

"Mostly my stomach. Let me see." Ginny looked at him inquisitively as the whole family stared with bated breath. He raised his hand to push his overgrown hair back off his face in order to display the injury that hurt most.

The collective gasp of eight of the nine Weasley's reverberated in the small room and was followed almost immediately by several crashes against the wall behind them. Startled, and fearful Harry had raised his hand and sent all the furniture occupied by the Weasley's flying back to hit the wall behind them

"Harry? As in Harry _Potter_?" Ron suddenly connected the two as the rest of his family still reeled from the double shock of the revelation of the lightning bolt scar and then sliding halfway across the room with no warning.

"Would you lot calm down," Ginny said exasperated as she turned back to Harry. "It's like I was telling you Harry . . . My family has heard of you and they were just surprised to figure out who you were." She turned her head angling it slightly toward her family. "They're going to be more careful now and try not to startle you. They are going to stay right where they are, okay. So you can see that they are trustworthy." Her tone held a warning for her family. "I imagine you are not usually around this many people?"

He nodded slowly. His head was turned toward her but he was seemingly unable to take his eyes off the unknown element across the room. "The last time I was surround by so many . . ." his voice cut off abruptly. "You don't want to know . . . " he said unconsciously running his hand over the large burn scar that covered the majority of his left shoulder. Ginny's face clenched in compassion at the briefest allusion to how his life had been led. His eyes finally slid to her face. He tilted his head as confusion swarmed his features. His hand slowly, as if it acting of its own accord it rose to her face and traced over the creases of concern in her brow, his fingers moved to the corners of her eyes in a barely there touch. Her family watched with bated breath being determinedly still and quiet.

"I don't understand," he said slowly.

"Don't understand what?" She asked kindly.

"What this is you are feeling? I do not recognize it." Mrs. Weasley's hand flew to her mouth at his heartbreaking confusion.

"I am feeling concerned for you Harry, and sad that you have been treated so horribly," she explained slowly. When he continued to look at her in confusion she continued. "How did you feel when you saw them hurt me? What made you save me?"

"I-I . . . I do not have the words to describe it," he said, but anger and sadness seemed to be fighting for a place on his face.  

"I feel the same about them hurting you," she said slowly. He looked taken aback. He blinked in confusion, trying to reconcile what she had told him with everything he had experienced, before her. He suddenly whipped his head back toward the others in the room. He tensed when he realized he had let his guard down, but they were still there, exactly as Ginny said they'd be. This seemed to calm him. Ginny shifted next to him and he turned to see her eyes closed in pain, that feeling he could recognize.

"You are hurt," he said in alarm.

"Yes," Ginny sighed no longer able to deny it. "So are you. We should let my parents contact someone to help us. Will you let someone look at your injuries? I think you may need a blood-replenishing potion. You look rather pale." Harry looked alarmed at the prospect.

"How do you know it is safe?"

"My parents will do anything to get me better. That's all they want. They will get someone who will treat us well—" Ginny's breath hitched in pain and she grabbed her side. Harry stood immediately.

"Lie down," he said urgently moving to kneel before her as her breathing became more labored. For one horrible second, a sickly gasp for air was all that could be heard before the Weasley's spurred into motion.

"Floo Dumbledore and Madame Pomprey Bill," Mrs. Weasley said. "Get them here quick!"

Harry was focused on Ginny and he ignored the chaos around him surprising well, considering how agitated and hyper-aware he had been. He reached down and lifted her shirt to see her abdomen ignoring the others' gasps as he did so. He placed his hands gently over her ribs, there was a resounding crack that got the remainder of the Weasley's to their feet. Charlie and George rushed forward yanking Harry off the ground and away from Ginny whose breath was still coming in short gasps, but no longer contained the same disturbing wheezing sound.

"I'm fine," Ginny managed convincing no one.

"Ginevra!" Her mother responded, her tone exasperated and worn with stress.

"Okay, I'm not fine, but I'm not dying either. It just feels like I took a really nasty bludger to the gut. Stop panicking," she said.

On the other side of the room, Ron slowly moved toward Harry, who was crouched in the corner oscillating between anger and fear. Harry seemed undecided on whether to stay defensive or go on the offense. So Ron approached him very slowly keeping his hands visible and making no sudden movements. Harry watched him cautiously but did not respond offensively.

"What did you just do to her? Your hands glowed white," He stated slowly, wanting as much information as possible so they would be ready when help arrived.

"Do to her? I made her breath. She needed to breath." He explained as if confused as to why he had to do so. Ron sighed, looking over where Ginny was in fact, breathing much easier.

"More people are coming. They'll be here any minute, but they are coming to help Ginny," Ron said slowly, hoping warning the bloke would help. When Harry nodded in understanding it bolstered Ron into continuing. "Do you need anything? Bathroom? Food? Perhaps you'd like some clothes—" Ron stopped abruptly. He had thought he was doing well, but then he noticed Harry's hands were steadily gouging out deep cuts on his forearms, reopening wounds . . . Then, without warning, Harry's hand snaked over to the side table nearest him and grabbed the lamp. He smashed it forcefully into his head causing the bulb to shatter. He raised it again to repeat the gesture. When suddenly he froze. Ron regarded the statue before him in shock, but then turned to see Professor Dumbledore entering the room, wand in hand. He must have silently sent the spell that prevented Harry from hurting himself, prevented him from moving at all.

Madame Pomprey rushed right past Dumbledore to the couch and immediately began to tend to Ginny. Ginny flinched violently away from her touch and the nurse she knew well froze.

"Ginny dear, please, let me help you." Ginny took a calming breath, steeling herself and then nodded.

Ron watched as something he'd never seen before occurred. Dumbledore looked flabbergasted, confused, nothing like the jovial man who always seemed so omnipotent.

"What is this?" he asked.

"He's been doing that since they got here," Ron said giving Dumbledore the limited knowledge he had. Ginny was loosing patience . . . Harry was still standing there frozen, his eyes filled with terror.

"Professor, please," she pleaded when her family forced her to remain still for Madame Pomprey's examination. "He's so scared," she said craning her neck to look at Harry.

"He was attacking himself Miss Weasley," Dumbledore stated firmly.

"I know . . . but can't you put him in some sort of sleep. Look at him. He's terrified."

"Of course, inspired idea . . ." The surprise had obviously put the brilliant professor out of sorts. Immediately he had Harry lying down in a peaceful slumber.

"There, there Ginny. He's fine," her mother said. "Now please, let Madame Pomprey finish."

But the nurse had finished the simple scan and turned a questioning gaze to the room.

"Who was it that fixed her lung and rib?"

The room grew silent. "Umm, I think it was Harry," Ron said. He shifted awkwardly as everyone turned to stare at him now. "All he said was that he helped her breath . . ."

"Ginny, Ginny dear," Madame Pomprey and her mother were attempting to garner Ginny's attention.

Dumbledore was already interrogating her brothers about Harry. "Harry, Harry Potter?" This scared her more than anything else Dumbledore sounded confounded and defeated. The self-loathing in his voice permeated across the room all the way to Ginny's ears.

"Ginny," her mother said concern creeping in.

Ginny finally turned her reluctant gaze to back to the duo before her. "Ginevra, we have to ask you something," Madame Pomprey started. "And I need you to tell us the truth, no matter what." Ginny continued to stare at her confusedly. She wasn't downplaying her injuries, why were they looking at her like that?

"Ginny, when you got back . . . well hun . . . the state of your clothes . . . there wasn't much left to them," her mother was speaking in a slow controlled voice, like she was afraid Ginny would explode if she spoke too quickly, but Ginny thought she was cottoning on. "Ginny," her mother pleaded. "Did . . . were you . . . assaulted?"

"You need to tell us Ginny," Madame Pomprey said. "There are potions and treatments . . . "

The room was suddenly deathly silent. No one moved.

"Oh, uh no . . . not actually. He didn't . . ." Ginny said, but it was obvious her answer did not assure the women before her. "He just taunted me . . . he never got very far . . ." Her voice dropped low, barely audible. "I-I think he was trying to . . . to demoralize me, make me loose hope." Her eyes shaded, as harsh memories washed over her.

Bill's eyes fell to the floor and his stomach's clenched as he listened to his sister, his baby sister. Hadn't she been through enough in her young life? First that damn diary and now this . . . Was she being specifically targeted?

"Okay, Ginny. I'm afraid that's all we can do for now. The only recovery from the amount and strength of cruciatus curses you've sustained is time . . . and rest." Madame Pomprey had always been very fond of Ginny. She was such a strong, no nonsense girl. The only trouble she ever gave the nurse was her never ending attempts to belittle her injuries. But Ginny's spirit was always so vivacious. "As a trained healer, Ginny, I'm telling you not to bottle up this experience. You will need to confront it, talk about it. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Ginny said quietly. She swung her legs over to sit up. She could finally move without shocking pain in her center. She still felt . . . achy, but it was much more manageable. "Now, I think you need to look at Harry. . . I don't think we will earn his trust if he wakes to find out something has been done to him without his express permission."

"Ginny, maybe we should treat him while he can't object."

"No, I think he will never get better if we don't give him a chance to make a choice. . . I don't think he's really had much free will . . . He-he doesn't seem to . . . that's when he hurts himself I think, when he makes his own choices . . . or something," she turned to Dumbledore suddenly. "He's under some sort of dark magic . . . I've seen him fight it. It's different than the imperius curse . . . You have to help him," she was pleading with Dumbledore trying to discern what his expression meant as he stared at Ginny appraisingly.

"You have to tell us everything Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said.

"I know. I will . . . I just—I need Harry to be okay first. I have never seen someone bleed so much in one day, not to mention how long he's been treated this way . . ."

"Okay, but one thing first. We need to take precautions. We need to verify that this is in fact Harry Potter." Ginny opened her mouth but a hand from Dumbledore silenced her objection. "He will not feel a thing." Ginny nodded reluctantly and Dumbledore proceeded to scan his wand down the length of Harry's body. Ginny watched anxiously as he began to mutter spells she had never heard before. A soft glow began to emit from Harry's skin from his feet to his face. This seemed to be the sign Dumbledore was waiting for, his breath hitched in his throat.

"It's him . . . I don't understand . . . how is this possible?" Dumbledore was shaking his head back and forth seemingly in confused denial.

The group watched silently, shocked to see such a foreign expression on their mentor's face. Ginny's eyes followed her father as he walked up to Dumbledore and placed a hand on the man's shoulder. She watched as Dumbledore closed his eyes and breathed deep looking every bit the hundred-year-old man he was, ripe with a hundred years of regret.

"I thought he was dead," Dumbledore said softly his eyes now taking in every mar on Harry's skin. "This is my fault . . ."

Ginny pushed herself carefully off the couch and walked over toward Dumbledore. She sat carefully by Harry's head and ran her fingers gently through his over grown hair carefully tracing around the growing bump on his forehead. She knew it was irrational but she felt so drawn, so connected to him. It wasn't just a shared trauma. It wasn't that everything shifted aside and he was suddenly the center of her world or anything quite the trite. It was more like he had slid perfectly into her world as if there had always been a space waiting for him.

"Stop," Ginny said softly, but the word was filled with kindness and devoid of negativity. "You say you thought he was dead . . . than this is a _good_ thing. He is alive. He has a chance . . ." The room held its breath at the naked emotion in her voice. Dumbledore's head snapped up to Ginny's face as he watched her watch Harry. "I don't know everything he's been through, but . . . it's bad. We can't afford to loose his trust."

"Okay," Dumbledore said. He moved to place his wand in his hand to undo the deep sleep he had put Harry in, but Ginny stopped him.

"First I should tell you the essentials. It was the Malfoy's," Ginny said softly looking earnestly into Dumbledore's eyes before turning to the solace she found in her parents. She felt Bill's hand squeeze her shoulder and she tried desperately to suppress her initial responding flinch. "I don't remember how . . . last I remember I was on the train back from Hogwarts . . ."

"You weren't there, when the train arrived or at least we never saw you in the train station," her mother filled in quietly.

"So . . . how long . . . I mean, what's the date?"

"It's July 2nd. You've been gone a month."

Ginny let that sink in and then she looked up into the eyes of the twins. They were so serious, so concerned. The look didn't suit them. She felt her reserve strength forcing its way to the surface. She didn't want them to suffer with her. What would be the point of that? They watched as the hurt look left her face filling determination in its void.

"They were planning something, planning to use me as bait to get something . . . or trying to get information out of me directly. It was Lucius," she said again. "He _knew_. He slipped me the diary. He knew what it contained," she said unable to keep the self-loathing out of her tone.

She heard the restrained sounds of barely concealed anger. It made it sound like the room was filled with angry tigers ready to break out of their constricting cages. She looked up in alarm. She knew she was already pushing her brothers past their tolerance for inaction. Weasley's were many things, but patient wasn't one of them, and vengeful was. She decided to push on faster getting anxious to help Harry.

"They wanted to know where Riddle's father was buried," she said quickly and confoundedly. "They seemed to think I could tell them. They asked a lot of questions about a phoenix? I didn't really know what they were getting at. They said that I had to give them all the information they wanted but . . . I don't remember much of the other questions they asked. I found it easier to avoid responding if I didn't even know what the question was . . ."

"Who were 'they'?" Charlie interjected.

"Lucius, and some crazy woman. He kept calling her his sister-in-law."

Everyone in the room turned toward Percy as his fist connected with the coffee table with a resounding thump. His face was livid devoid of its usual careful composure. When his anger-filled eyes rose and took in the questioning looks the others were giving him he responded darkly. "Bellatrix." The name fell like an explicative out of his mouth.

"What happened?" Dumbledore never sounded more dangerous.

"Bellatrix was released into the care of a mediwitch after said witch declared her insane. Lucius petitioned to get her psychiatric help in a private ward," Mr. Weasley answered seeing his most gentile of sons too angry to responded. "We suspect more than a little gold changed hands. But apparently enough of the Wizengamot agreed that she was so mentally incapacitated that she _couldn't_ be a harm to anyone. The Daily Prophet has kept the story quiet. They're probably going to run the story when the new and improved long-term psychiatric floor opens at St. Mungo's, courtesy of a sizable donation made by none other than Lucius Malfoy."

"And here I thought seeking help abroad was going to help her," Dumbledore said to himself gesturing vaguely toward Ginny.

"I think Lucius has been waiting for you to be out of reach to push through his request," Percy said through gritted teeth. "I had been so certain my father was wrong, but the ministry is obviously far more corrupt than I realized." Mr. Weasley smiled sadly at his son. No father wanted to disillusion the hopes of their children, but perhaps Percy's realization was a step toward helping their somewhat strained relationship.

"What was this witch like Ginny?" Dumbledore asked turning all attention back to her.

"She's mental alright . . . She seemed to have an . . . affinity for pain. They did seem a little oblivious to exactly what happened with the diary. I don't think they realized . . . that Riddle had steadily shared more of himself with me as the year went on," her voice was barely a whisper. Her family watched with bated breath. Ginny never talked about her first year. "I know I never talked about it much, but . . . in retrospect, I think Riddle was concerned that he was scaring me with the chamber stuff and that's why he stopped. He was afraid, not of being destroyed, but of being hidden away. So slowly he tried to regain my trust, working slowly to mentally align himself with me. Doing so meant he had to share with me himself in order to build the strength he needed to exist in my mind . . . I know his mind well. I . . . I was desperate to keep them from letting them realize just how well I understood their master. I don't think they cottoned on . . ."

"Just to survive that was an accomplishment Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said. "You did a very brave thing, keeping information that would be dangerous in their hands from them and rescuing Harry."

"No," Ginny said shaking her head. "_He_ save me."

Dumbledore smiled kindly, a spark of the much more recognizable all-knowing glint in his eyes. "That remains to be seen."

Dumbledore followed Ginny's anxious gaze to Harry and then slowly removed the deep sleep spell.

Harry's eyes snapped open franticly and immediately filled with panic. He turned to the man with a wand pointed directly on him, the one that had frozen him, removed all of his ability to move, trapping him. Then Ginny filled his gaze. In a flash he grabbed her hand and with a resounding snap the two abruptly disappeared.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Shock flittered across Ginny's face as she gasped. Having suddenly found herself in an entirely new place she felt her heart stutter in panic. On either side of her was what was once fresh grasslands. Winding sidewalks were overgrown with brown dried up weeds. The field was lined with strategically placed benches that looked like they hadn't been sat on in years. It couldn't have been more eerie even if it was a graveyard. As it was she expected ghosts of children to come bounding across the open space at any moment.

"Harry? Where are we?"

He stumbled before crouching in wary defense. "I do not know." His head whipped right and left. Ginny hastily reached into her pocket, thankful for her mother's over-protectiveness. Her fingers wrapped around a wand—not her own, as that one was long since snapped—but one of her great uncle's, a spare. Her mother had quickly handed it over to her when Ginny confessed how defenseless she had felt since her own had been taken.

She turned to Harry, hearing his breathing accelerate. He was no longer whipping his head around in confusion. Now he was staring at _her, _alarm coloring every aspect of his stance. He backed away from her in shock. She was the first person he had ever trusted and look what that had got him.

Ginny instantly felt horrible even though she knew that she had not done anything to hurt him. But his face screamed betrayal.

"Harry?" she said softly. "It's alright..." She slowly raised her hands in an attempt to placate him. She saw his eyes dart fearfully to the wand in her hand.

"This?" she asked, gesturing to the wand cautiously. "My mum gave it to me, so I could protect myself." She felt overwhelming sadness at the thought that she may have lost the connection she had to the scared boy. "Please, Harry..." Her voice cracked under the strain and stress of the day. "I promise I'm not going to hurt you."

He looked at her piercingly. Ginny would not have torn her gaze from his if she could. Whatever he saw in her eyes seemed to reassure him as he relaxed his stance, releasing his previous defensive pose.

Suddenly, Ginny felt very thankful that the sun had set cloaking her and Harry in darkness. Harry stood before her wearing little, very little, nothing but a rag. And here she stood in sweatpants and a t-shirt that both engulfed her frame. She was barefoot and her hair was still wet. They were not what anyone would describe as inconspicuous.

There was a rustle of grass and a sudden bell. Ginny squinted into the night and saw a bicycle approaching.

"Come on, Harry. We really shouldn't be seen." She held out her hand to him and smiled at him gratefully when he slowly slid his hand into hers. She pulled him with her toward the street below the hill that the abandoned park was on. The town was quaint, with the distinct feeling that it had been around forever. It reminded her of a very small version of Diagon Alley with its cobblestone road and the old-fashioned façade of the buildings. Each business had a hand-painted sign hanging on a post that jutted into the street.

Harry glanced up and down the deserted street as the two walked quietly, keeping close to the shadows. He was thankful the street was quiet. While he was fervently scanning his surroundings, he couldn't help but be distracted but the warm feeling of Ginny's hand in his own. He didn't know that such warmth could come from such a small thing.

Suddenly she gasped, sending waves of panic through his system, but he didn't run. He would not run from her. Instead he turned to see her pointing at a sign, in shock.

"Godric's Hollow Post" was all the sign read.

"What is wrong?" he asked.

"Harry," she whispered turning to look at him. "You've been here before. This is where you lived with your parents. This is where they were killed."

She held his gaze calmly as she watched him struggle to comprehend. She instinctively knew that she was his lifeline. She had quickly become what he cleaved to as everything he had ever known lost its veracity.

"Parents?" Harry asked as he looked at her in utter confusion. But Ginny was distracted by a sudden warmth in her left pocket.

***

"Where did he take her?"

"How could this have happened?"

The growing agitation of the small room's occupants made it feel as if the walls were closing in, and this hornets' nest was about to fall right of the branch and produce an explosion of angry bees. Bill dashed out of the room and up the stairs without attracting a single person's attention.

"I thought we had anti-Apparation wards!" Charlie exclaimed.

"You do," Dumbledore said, but his eyes were unfocused. Then suddenly he looked taken aback, as if his own thoughts had surprised him. "But he didn't use a wand; those types of wards are based on the fact that the spells would require a wand." The explanation spilled out of Dumbledore as a reflex, his mind was quite obviously elsewhere.

"What if he brought her back—back to the people who hurt her?" came Molly's lament. At the hitch in her voice, all her boys turned to look at her. Her sons nearest her embraced her and empty words of reassurance spilled out and rushed over each other as each tried to assuage their mother's fear and panic.

The frenzy suspended as the harsh reality seeped in. Helplessness was the prevailing emotion in this moment of inactivity.

Bill suddenly came running down the stairs, almost falling in his rush. He produced a small smooth stone and held it in the air triumphantly.

He was panting. "She's alright." Eyes desperate for reassurance latched on to him like a life preserver. "She's not scared."

"Is that a guardian stone?" Dumbledore asked.

Bill cast his eyes down in guilt. "Yeah, I got them in Egypt. And... I, uh, slipped the other stone in the pocket of the sweatpants I lent to Ginny."

"What?" Ron asked, shaking his head in confusion. "What kind of stone are you talking about?"

"I knew Ginny would flag me for it when she found it, but it just made me feel better. Turned out, it paid off."

"Thank the heavens," Molly breathed out.

"The stone," Dumbledore began, ever the teacher, "connects two people. Whenever one is in distress the stone warms. It's mostly used to keep track of young witches and wizards who are at risk. Whatever is drawn on one stone can be seen on the other. And if the stone carrier's need is great enough, it will direct the guardian's Apparation directly to them... They are incredibly rare."

"Well then, what are we waiting for? George exclaimed.

"That's why I think she's fine. She's not scared. Her need is not enough to power the magic to direct my Apparation."

"Fine, then send her a message. Find out where she is!" Fred continued.

"She has to find the stone first," Bill said. "I'm trying to get hers to warm so she'll find it. It just takes time. But at least we know."

"Yes," Mr. Weasley said, as if trying to remind himself. "At least we know she's relatively safe."

***

Harry watched in confusion as Ginny reached down searchingly into her pocket and pulled out a smooth, flat stone. Harry leaned in closer to Ginny, allowing their shoulders to touch, as writing appeared on the stone. Ginny let a part of her consciousness appreciate the fact the Harry seemed to lose his fear of proximity around her, but the rest was focused on the glistening words as they appeared to scratch themselves into the stone's surface.

'Ginny, it's Bill.' Ginny stared at the stone suspiciously. Bill? What in Merlin's name?

'Ginny, write an answer on the stone.' Ginny continued to pause, deliberating. Harry tilted his eyes to hers.

"What is wrong? Is Bill bad? Does he hurt you?" Harry said as he tilted his head to peer into her suspicious eyes.

Ginny shook her head. "No, Bill is my oldest brother. But, I'm not sure who is really writing as Bill..." Ginny's eyes became suddenly hard. "I do not trust things that can think for themselves when I can not see where they keep their heads." She paused, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Harry? Do you think you could Apparate us back. When we are ready?"

"Yes. But..."

Ginny cut him off. "Okay. I'm going to use the wand now, Harry. Fair warning..."

As Ginny pulled out the stick and began scrawling in small writing on the stone, Harry felt a strange tingling deep beneath the base of his sternum. She had done it without even thinking about it, but simply warning him that she was going to take out her wand and do magic made all the difference in the world. If someone was going to use magic against him, they certainly were not going to warn him first. Even in this moment when her actions seemed to be laced with urgency, she took the time to make sure he felt... unthreatened. Who was this creature?

"There," she said, admiring the words on the stone. "I think that's safe." Harry turned his head away from her captivating face and to the stone in her hand.

'If this is my family: Yes, I am safe. To keep safe, I will not tell you where I am.'

Ginny tapped the stone once and the words disappeared as if being absorbed by the stone.

'What? Why not?' appeared quickly after.

'In case you are not my family.'

***

Bill sighed heavily, feeling tempted to toss the stone across the room. But there was no way he could have accomplished that without hurting anyone as they were all practically on top of him anxiously reading the words.

"We have to convince her," Percy said adamantly. Then the room was again abuzz with everyone talking and no one to listening. They all tried to find a way to convince her that they were in fact her family.

Charlie just kept shaking his head. "There's no way to convince her with one sentence arguments through that stone. Why does she have to be so stubborn?"

"Actually, I think she's acting quite smart. She's a clever witch," Dumbledore said suddenly. "She's right to question the object so conveniently placed in her pocket. Plus she has good reason to not trust bewitched objects..."

"I know," Charlie sighed sadly, plopping back down on the couch.

Mr. Weasley walked up to Bill and gently took the stone. And then he scrawled one simple line.

'Come back to us soon.'

* * *

Ginny smiled through the tears in her eyes. As much as she hoped it was really her family, she couldn't risk it. Hope, she had learned, as powerful as it could be, was damaging if not coupled with extreme common sense and caution. She cast a shielding charm around the object, a precaution that she had learned after her struggle with the diary. The shield helped contain its magic, severely diminishing its effects.

"Harry, we should go back," Ginny said wearily.

"What?" he asked her in genuine confusion. "But that man, he used magic against me. I can not bring you back to where he is. It is not safe."

Ginny regarded him seriously a moment. He seemed adamant.

"That man, Harry," she said while glancing around furtively, "is Dumbledore. And he is really a good man and an amazing wizard. He was just trying to stop you from hurting yourself."

"He took away my control...You are saying he was trying to stop my punishment? Usually when someone uses magic to freeze me like that..."

Ginny stopped and turned to face Harry, searching his distant expression for answers.

"What? Usually what?"

He looked up to meet her eyes and for one instant the pain and the fear was so poignant that Ginny felt it firsthand.

"Harry?" she asked gently.

The moment was over and the shades were pulled down over his eyes again. The silence between them grew.

"Come on, Harry, let's talk and walk. We shouldn't stand here in the middle of this town. You are not really even wearing clothes!"

"Of course I'm not." This time the confusion was all on Ginny, yet she couldn't help but feel her outrageous hypothesis was becoming more and more likely.

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked. When he failed to respond Ginny pressed further. "Harry, do you know what house elves are?"

"The elf servants? Of course," Harry responded.

"It's just—you act as if..." Ginny struggled to formulate the question; it seemed so absurd, so unlikely... "Your actions...they're so much like a house elf. Even your Apparation..."

"Well, the others taught me." Suddenly he looked worried. "I-I just... in order to please our masters I needed magic in order to work fast enough and fulfill their wishes." His voice was pleading as if he was worried that she was upset with him.

"No, Harry, it's not that. It's the hurting yourself and the aversion to clothes." His face only grew more puzzled.

"I may not be an elf, but I am still a slave," he said, unsure as to why this required an explanation.

Ginny shook her head, trying to understand what he was saying. "But how is it you act like a house-elf? How did that happen?"

"The same way it always does," he answered slowly.

"What? The same way _what_ always does?" she asked.

"Well, the making of a slave."

"What? Harry, we won't be able to understand how to help you and get rid of whatever Dark magic is making you act like a house-elf."

"House-elves? Elves are not born slaves. They are made. As was I."

Ginny did not know how to take this. His worldview was so skewed. He acted as if she was the one who did not understand.

The road had narrowed as they left the main part of the town, but now it was widening again into some sort of town square.

"Harry..." she started.

"I like it when you call me 'Harry,'" he said suddenly, seemingly surprised that the words had escaped his mouth.

She smiled at him. "I can't imagine what you've experienced and how confused you must feel, but I can promise you that everyone in the Burrow only wants to help you. They are good people who can show you that kindness is not as rare as you think. Together we can figure this all out."

"You want to go back." There was no question in his tone.

"I want you to be ready to go back. I want to help you, just like you helped me."

Their wandering brought them to center of the square. The large trees created the perimeter with encroaching branches cloaking them; the statue before them was in shadows. Ginny squinted into the distance. Beyond the statue, far off, was a house. In the obscuring darkness it looked... deformed. She was trying to make sense of its outline when Harry suddenly pulled her back from the monument. She found herself pulled flush against him with his heaving breath warm in her ear. His alertness brought her attention to the statue before her. It was shifting. Where once stood immortalized soldiers was now a small family.

Ginny couldn't help the tears that welled as realization dawned. A mother and father both encompassing a small child. At their feet was a simple golden plaque.

_To the Potters: Who Showed Us How to Take a Stand_

"Harry, it's okay," Ginny said needlessly as she felt him relax his grip on her. She turned to see him analyzing the statue before him.

"Potters?" he asked, tilting his head toward her while still keeping his eyes glued to the statue. There was something about the likenesses that drew him in. Suddenly a flash of green overtook his vision. A woman's disembodied scream filled his ears. He shook his head trying to clear his confusion and redoubled his efforts to focus on this statue.

A gentle hand on his shoulder made him jump out of his skin. "Yes, this is a statue of your parents, and that baby is you."

"Parents." He sounded so confused again. "I-I guess I never really thought...I mean part of me knew I must have had parents... but I never really considered their existence." Ginny watched and intuitively kept quiet and let him work out his confusion aloud. "I mean, I knew I was different from the others... but I did not imagine there were people who..." He stared broodingly up at the faces of the statue.

"People who loved you. People who did everything they could to keep you safe."

"Why was it so hard?" he asked finally, turning to look at her. "Why was keeping me safe so difficult? Why is there a statue here of them? Why did you and your family know who I was when even I didn't?"

Ginny gently led him to the stone ledge that surrounded the statue and sat beside him. She couldn't help but worry that he needed sleep and a blood replenishing potion before he took in any more. But she couldn't imagine anyone being able to sleep with such questions engulfing their consciousness.

"There is a reason why your parents were killed. It's the same reason my family and the whole wizarding world would know how to recognize you. It's also probably the reason those horrible people treated you as they did in that mansion."

She had his attention now. And there, in the deserted square of his childhood hometown, cloaked in a nocturnal black, Ginny explained with painstaking kindness the horrors of his parents' death. She told him all she knew. How Voldemort wanted him dead and of his parents' efforts to hide him, and most importantly how Voldemort had failed to kill him and hadn't been heard of since. She also explained to him that the Malfoys had claimed innocence and how their wealth had helped them establish an honorable reputation around the Ministry.

"But my family. We've never trusted them. Dad raids their house for Dark objects all the time. He's always suspected the Malfoys weren't as reformed as they claimed to be."

Thinking of all the things he had seen the Malfoys do to her, as well as to himself over the years, he couldn't help but nod. He regretted the action almost immediately as he felt the independence he had been slowly gaining slip out of his tenuous grasp. He suddenly leaned out of Ginny's gentle hold on his hand and brought his elbow down on the cement behind him with a resounding crack. He then proceeded to drag his bare skin against the cement ledge.

"No!" Ginny cried in alarm. She jumped up immediately. His blood seeped out of the newly formed wounds and diffused quickly over the foot of the statue depicting his parents. The splash of color was alarmingly stark in contrast to the black and white the darkness had rendered their surroundings.

Unthinkingly, Ginny pounced on top of him. She reached forward and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him up off his elbows. He fought at first, but then suddenly allowed her to pull him up closer to him. Their faces were a parchment width apart. His eyes fervently scanned her face. His breath came in short frequent puffs, warm on her face.

"Th-thank you." She smiled slightly at the sincerity in his tone.

"Why do you do that?" she asked more to herself than to him, her tone filled only with confusion and concern. She reached carefully for his arm, lifting the newly formed scratches to eye level. She blew lightly on the cuts and at his sigh she looked back up into his eyes.

"That makes it feel better... I do not choose to do this," he said, gesturing to his cut up arm. "I cannot disobey. I have never been able to go against them. Never before..."

"Before?"

"Before you," he replied without hesitation, but this fact was as confusing to him as it was readily apparent. Suddenly he buried his head in his hands and she heard his teeth lock closed with a snap. "I _need_ to be punished. I _have_ to return. I _do not deserve_..."

"Harry!"

He was curled up now, his knees tight to his chest. Ginny leaned in closer, placing her hands on his knees. "No," she said softly. "You don't need to be punished and you can't go back."

"You do not understand. I am not like you. I do not deserve to even be near you. I spoke poorly of my masters, I am losing my ability to fight their commands." Each sentence spilled out in a short stacato. They seemed disjointed as if each thought was fighting to be released, or perhaps each thought was struggling to stay concealed.

"Harry, you are done. You are not going back," Ginny said urgently, throwing caution to the wind and framing his face with her hands. "It is time for your life to change completely. It is time that everything gets better. You have to keep fighting it."

His eyes locked hers again. He wondered if the years spent avoiding eye contact were the fuel to his new desperate drive to keep searching out hers. She meant it. Somehow he knew. She alone was truthful. He felt himself nod. Her resulting smile, albeit a watery one, only seemed to catalyze the growth of his fighting strength.

"I would love to believe you."

"Than do," Ginny said pointedly. "I'm right. I usually am, just ask my brothers."

Harry chuckled, in no way doubting that she had her brothers' devotion to her. But her influence over them was out of love, he realized, and not fear. Some of the things in her world were starting to make sense to him, like a long forgotten dream.

She looked at him in surprise. His laugh was low and short-lived but it was a laugh. "See, you're getting better already."

Spoke too soon, was the first thought Ginny registered as Harry's whole body began trembling. His fingers were digging into his scalp as if he was trying to contain himself. Shock rippled through Ginny though she didn't know how anything surprised her anymore.

"They are summoning me," Harry said through clenched teeth. "It is not just a command. They are pulling," he finished reluctantly. It was as if there were two opposing forces in his body. His head was forcing its way up, while his hands were pushing it back down. He moved to stand, but half of his body fought the movement and as a result he fell tumbling to the ground.

"NO!" he ground out as he thrashed against the ground and hit his head against the ungiving concrete more than once. This broke Ginny from her static stance. She rushed to him in his prone state and in a panic clambered on top of him. She used her elbows to restrain his shoulders, reaching her hands out to brace his head. The movement brought their heads close together and caused her hair to fall like curtains on either side of their faces.

Harry's face was contorted in pain. "It's all of them," he said, staring in panic up at Ginny's concerned face. "They are all working together." He started shaking his head back and forth, tears were seeping out of his eyes and rolling into his ears and hairline. A groan of pain rippled through his whole body that even Ginny felt. "I can't... I can't keep fighting. You have to... Get. Away. From. Me!"

"No, Harry, you've gotten this far. You can fight them. You already are." Her hands moved consolingly over his face, brushing his long hair back. "Harry... I trust you. You can do this. You won't bring me back to that horrible place."

His tortured expression froze for a second. "I can only fight this for so long..."

Desperate to end his sufferings, Ginny wracked her brains for a solution. She heard commotion in the town and found herself shocked to notice it was no longer as dark as it had been when they first arrived. They had to get out of here.

"Could you get us back to the Burrow safely? If we could get back there, we can get you help. I think we may need to put you in a forced sleep so you can recover and have the strength to keep fighting." He started shaking his head, though it was still encased by her arms. "Harry, look at me. I promise to only do things that will help you. I will _never_ hurt you." He reached his hands up to grab her wrists. For a moment she was worried he was going to tear her hands off his face, but his touch was feather light, so soft that if she closed her eyes she might think she were imagining it. His hands gently encircled her wrists, using his sense of touch to reassure himself that she was in fact real and not some desperate invention of his subconscious.

"I think I can get us back." He breathed deeply. "I... just... need... a... minute, to collect my strength. I will not be strong after this. It may sap my energy. I may succumb to them."

"You get us back. And I'll keep you safe." He breathed in deeply and exhaled with forced slowness.

"Okay. Ready?"

She had not even finished nodding when suddenly she fell onto the floor of the Burrow's living room. She found herself in the same position in which she left Godric's Hollow with Harry still locked beneath her, now trembling violently.

"They... stronger... can't..."

Ginny whipped her hand into her back pocket and yanked out her wand.

"Quick! The spell for inactive sleep!" she shouted. Her family was in stunned silence and annoyingly inert. Harry raised his fingers together as if to snap them when Ginny slammed his hand down to ward off the movement. "You stay with me, Harry! What's the spell, damn it? Put him under!"

Dumbledore reacted first and silently sent Harry into the deep sleep. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief as Harry ceased fighting. She reached down once again, pushing his unruly hair off of his face and pressed the lightest of kisses to his forehead. She was still panting when she realized her current predicament: straddling a barely dressed wizard with her family, including all of her brothers, watching. Months ago she would have said that this was one of her worst nightmares, but now she had much more horrifying subject matter to fuel her nightmares.

She slowly maneuvered off of Harry and pushed herself to her feet only to stumble over to the couch. She fell faintly on to it. When was the last time she had eaten again?

Her world was getting fuzzy, her vision blurry, and the commotion and confusion all seemed nonsensical to her. She held one hand to her head and the other on the couch to keep her upright. "Safe? We're both safe?" she barely managed.

"Yes dear, you are both safe," her mother responded.

"So hungry, so tired," Ginny mumbled. But thankfully, Charlie was already returning from the kitchen with a tray of food.

"I know, luv. You need to eat something before you sleep." Her mom helped her guide the soup to her mouth and never had she ever wanted to protest less. Ginny sighed in gratitude. The ebbing adrenaline left her feeling washed clean like the shore after the tide. She was surprised at how quickly food and water improved how she felt.

"Where were you?" asked one of her brothers.

"Godric's Hollow," she said, still in amazed confusion. "I think a part of Harry may remember being safe there... He needs help. He needs blood and food and... help. He's been fighting what is compelling him, but he said 'they' were all working together to summon him, and it was stronger than any compulsion he was feeling..." From their blank faces she could tell they understood little, but she couldn't help her rambling. "We saw the statue of him and his parents...." Her voice caught. "He didn't even realize he had had parents."

"Ginny, just relax a second. Eat. Breathe," her father directed. Ginny looked up at him seeing the tears in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry I worried you," she said, looking directly at him. "Harry was really just trying to bring us somewhere safe. Dumbledore terrified him. All wandwork does, actually."

The boys began to bustle about her, happy to have something to do. They moved Harry to the couch. Bill and Charlie began brewing a blood replenishing potion. She even saw Ron head up to her room with a pile of fresh bedsheets. She finished eating, for once not irritated at her parents' hovering. By the time she put her plate aside, all had returned to the living room.

"Okay," she said, looking specifically at Dumbledore. "I know you have questions." When they continued to stare, she rolled her eyes. "Shoot."

Dumbledore cleared his throat before turning to Ginny. "Thank you, Ginny. You have shown amazing courage and strength of character. I hate to ask more of you before you can get some rest, but we need—"

"I know."

"How did you meet Harry?"

"He was a servant—well, more a slave—at Malfoy Manor. He snuck me food when he was sent to mop me up."

"Mop you up?"

"Yes, Lucius would send him to me after they were done questioning me. The questioning was... violent." Her eyes fell to the side as the memories flooded in, but she continued even when her throat constricted so tightly she didn't think she could get any more words out. She explained the questions asked of her and their plan to wear her down.

"I think they were convinced that if they just kept torturing me that they'd get answers, half of which I didn't even have. Like Voldemort's father? I don't know anything about that man. I guess that's a little reassuring. Lucius thought that Tom from the diary would have told me... but that Tom didn't even know who his father was. So I think that means I was right about the diary. Riddle was afraid to move too fast because he needed to slowly work up an interdependence between us; he couldn't take over anyone easily. That's probably why he slowed down and didn't kill anyone my first year. He was worried that he'd scare me off and I might finally cotton on and ditch the damn book. He didn't anticipate that when I went home for the summer my family would realize that something was off with me."

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded, looking at Ginny measurably. "I think that is very logical."

"The puzzle of what they are up to is easier to think about than everything else."

"Such as?"

"I don't remember being snatched, just waking up in pain in an unfamiliar place. It makes it seem like it could happen again at any moment." She nodded at the words of solace from her family, but otherwise ignored them. "And then there's Harry—what he's been through. I witnessed only the very tip of the iceberg."

"Do we know what type of dark magic he is under?" Bill asked.

Dumbledore turned to Ginny. "Has he spoken with you?"

Ginny nodded and explained her conversation with Harry about house elves. "I don't think he realizes that witches and wizards are not made into slaves regularly. He acted as if there was no real difference between him and the elves."

"Well, that can't possibly be true," Charlie interjected. "If it were, why haven't more Death Eaters done that? Why didn't Voldemort do that when he was in power?"

"Does he consider himself an elf?" Dumbledore asked softly to Ginny.

"No. He understands that he is a person... different from the others is what he kept saying. But he also thinks he is different from me and other witches and wizards..." She looked up into the faces of her family pleadingly. "I don't really know what's going on, but it seems that physically some sort of magic on him, as well as some serious emotional conditioning. He struggles a lot with the idea that he deserves more than to be treated like filth. But he wants to fight it. We have to help him. Please." Ginny turned to her parents and then to Dumbledore. "I promised him I'd help him. We have to find a way."

Dumbledore studied the young witch before him. She was such a passionate person. She cared deeply for this boy, that was for certain. She brought up painful memories of a time when he was once hopeful and energetic. Perhaps he could get that back. If the boy was emotionally conditioned to obey a Death Eater... well, she might be the only remedy.

In the silence Ginny was hit with another wave of exhaustion. "He said that house elves were made, not born. Does that help?"

"I will need to do some research. This is very old, ancient magic that is not very well understood. I also still do not understand how he was harmed with the protection he had at his relatives' home and how he was removed from the Hogwart's list if he has been alive this whole time. But of course I will look into it right away. Also, I will ward this house against all wandless appariation. Now that we know it is house elf magic, I can show you how to do that. When we wake him, he will not be able to take off again."

"Or be forced back," Ginny said quietly.

"Miss Weasley?" Dumbledore started again tentatively. "Are you absolutely certain it was Lucius Malfoy who held you captive?"

"Yes," Ginny said, looking at him confused.

"Well, many will argue that the injuries you sustained may have left you confused."

"No, it was him."

"Do you think you would be able to testify in court..." He held up his hand to stave off her quick agreement. "... with Mr. Malfoy present, and the press it will bring?"

"I can and I will do it. I just want to sleep some first."

Dumbledore smiled, though worry and stress erased any real mirth from his eyes. "Of course, let us hope we can bring Lucius to trial quickly, but it most certainly won't be tonight. Thank you, Miss Weasley. It will make a great difference."

"Enough, I think," her dad broke in. "That's enough for now, right?"

"Absolutely, more than enough."

"Good. Ginny it is time you get some rest."

Dumbledore was already delegating jobs as her parents led her upstairs to her room to sleep.

"My bed," she said in relief when they arrived at her door, smiling in anticipation. She walked wearily over to her dresser and turned on the WWN. She smiled to herself, letting the music fill her. She had missed this. She left it on and walked over to her bed and slid into the sheets. Her mother moved to tuck her in, giving the sheets extra unneeded soothing.

"We are so proud of you, Ginny. Get some rest," her mother managed to choke out.

"Thank you for coming back to us," her dad said, kissing her forehead.

And thanks to the exhaustion, she fell asleep immediately.

****


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

iThe familiar warm trickle had reached her eyes, stinging them and adding a red tint to her vision. Her consciousness was slipping, and in the haze she couldn't remember why she should fight the soothing unawareness passing out would bring. They were still talking... how she wished they would stop.

"We need to keep her alive," Lucius hissed, annoyed with Bella's overzealous tactics. The responding laugh was jarring, keeping Ginny conscious enough to comprehend what she heard even though her vision was becoming unreliable.

"I still do not see why..."

"If we want to revive our master we must collect the necessary pieces. She holds a valuable piece of the puzzle. We must understand what she has learned. I want to know what Dumbledore is up to and what he is ready for. We need to find out the truth behind the prophecy, and we alone must learn the Dark Lord's past and protect it so that we may pave the way for his future."

"I still do not like the filth we are forced to rely on. Why the Dark Lord would ever have trusted him..." Bellatrix sneered.

"He betrayed the Potters and that whole filthy lot. The Dark Lord knows fear and desperation can turn the smallest rodent into the most reliable slave. And speaking of slaves, surely with the one we have we will return the most celebrated of the Dark Lord's followers. No longer will we have to hide and grovel at the feet of all those do-gooders who don't recognize the superiority of blood. We will not only be on top, our ways will be the ways of all."

"That will never happen," Ginny wheezed out, not caring about the consequences. Her expectations were met when a foot collided with her gut causing blood to spill from her mouth. While she was still spluttering blood trying to re-catch her breath she was hit by a Cruciatus Curse.

"Cruicio!"

"Crucio!"/i

"Ginny! Ginny, wake up!"

A scream escaped her lungs as she bolted up out of bed. She was drenched in sweat with her t-shirt and hair sticking uncomfortably to her. She whipped her head left and right as her hand moved automatically to her bedside table to grasp her wand. A Shield Charm was cast before the faces of the twins registered in her mind.

"Ginny, it's alright. You're home," Fred said.

Ginny sighed in relief. "Sorry," she said. "I was having a nightmare."

"I'd say," George responded, sitting on the edge of her bed. "You were crying out for a while before we could wake you." Ginny dropped their gaze, picking at her comforter.

"Yeah… I... remembered something," Ginny said, squinting her eyes and trying to recollect all the details.

"Maybe you shouldn't try so hard to remember..." George said warily.

"No, I need to remember anything that could help."

"Help what?"

"Help Harry… help figure out why the Malfoys would risk capturing me... what they were really after..."

"Did we already toss out the 'They're psychotic, evil sadists' theory? Because I was a big fan of that one." Fred knew he had achieved his desired effect when she laughed.

"I think they may be psychotic, evil sadists, with an evil plan to match," she said. And she pushed herself out of bed with one goal in mind: finding Harry.

The twins trailed after her, trying to delay her, insisting she eat first and making other excuses, which she ignored. When she arrived downstairs she was surprised to realize that first, it was already late afternoon, and second, that the Burrow was bustling with more activity than usual. She stopped near the bottom of the stairs. The activity and all the people creating it froze and turned to stare at her. To say it made her self-conscious was insufficient to say the least. Ginny ran her hand through her hair in an errant attempt to straighten it.

"Ginny, you're awake. How are you feeling?" her mother asked, pushing through the crowded room.

"Umm… fine," she said, distracted by her search for Harry.

"Ginevra..." The warning in her mother's voice was obvious; no half-truths would be tolerated.

"Alright, I don't feel great. Every muscle in my body aches... Where's Harry?" She ignored the extras in the room and followed her mother's gesture to the couch where he was still in an enchanted sleep.

"What have you done for him?" Ginny asked the room at large.

"He's been given a Blood-Replenishing Potion, and the majority of his wounds have been taken care of," Madame Pomfrey filled in gently. "He will feel like a whole new person when he wakes."

"Why hasn't he woken up yet?"

"We thought it best to wait for you," Dumbledore said softly.

"Is it healthy for him to be like that for this long?" Ginny asked, realizing that it had been more than twelve hours since he had been put under.

"Yes, more than safe. This is an ideal way for him to be able to heal some of his physical ailments. The rest of his condition is proving to be much more difficult. I'm afraid we can't do much for him without understanding how he came to be in this situation."

"We were able to ward the house and even tested the new wards on a house-elf." This came from a tall, built man with a deep, friendly voice. Ginny managed to tear her eyes away from Harry and turn to the man who had addressed her.

"Kingsley," the man said, holding his hand out to her. Ginny hesitated, than forced her hand up to meet his. She tried to suppress her shudder when her hand met his but from the room's reaction she was not entirely successful.

Ginny slid onto the edge of the couch near Harry's head, amazed at how weary she was despite the amount of sleep she had gotten. "Seems a lot has happened since I went to sleep."

Ginny looked overwhelmed, so Bill decided to give her the simplified version. "These people are friends of Dumbledore. They are all well-versed in defensive work. They are trying to round up evidence against the Malfoys and help figure out what happened with Harry and how it's possible that he was taken without us knowing."

"What do you mean 'evidence'? Aren't my injuries enough? Can't Madame Pomfrey testify to that?"

"Well, that does prove that someone attacked you..." a small compact wizard said as he approached her cautiously. "But I'm afraid the extent of your injuries will cause some to question your memory of the event... And the Malfoys are extremely well connected..."

Ginny would have rolled her eyes if the thought that people would not believe her had not made her sick to her stomach.

"Don't fret. We'll figure something out. I work in the office of Magical Law Enforcement. I have dealt with his sort before. We just need to be prepared."

"The others are here," Bill continued, gesturing vaguely to the door that several wizards had just left through. "They want to take your... testimony."

Ginny's whole face dropped at the thought of it before she could carefully compose it again. At least the last time she felt like such a victim things had been kept quiet. Dumbledore had insisted on it. This was different. This was going to be big. She may have been willing to stand-up against the Malfoys and stop whatever they were planning, but that didn't make her anymore excited about it.

"Oh. Umm… now?"

Mrs. Weasley smiled tightly at her daughter trying to hold back her tears. Her daughter shouldn't have to deal with this. She needed time to recover.

"No, not now," her mother said definitively.

"No, I can handle it," she said softly, but she couldn't help think that maybe she should share some information with her family and Dumbledore first. Maybe she shouldn't let everyone know some of the things she heard – especially if there was a chance that Lucius would not be put away. She shuddered at the thought. She could almost feel his cold hands on her skin...

"Ginny..."

"Gin-"

"Miss Weasley."

Ginny's head snapped up and she swallowed convulsively. She was going to have to face him in the courtroom. Would the press be there too? She could feel her tenuous grasp on control waning. She looked at Harry. His need was greater, and with that thought breath returned to her lungs.

"I will answer all of the Ministry's questions, but not until we figure this out. Not until we've helped Harry."

Percy stepped forward. "I will handle them. I will share with them what you've told us so far. The secondhand knowledge will have to suffice for the ground work of the case."

There was a sudden cacophony of sound. A persistent beeping noise was pulsing from the walls of the Burrow. Ginny cowered immediately, pulling her knees tightly to her chest and covering her head with her hands.

"Does the intruder ward have to be quite so loud?" Fred asked, annoyed.

"Ginny," Bill said as he reached a hand out for her head. She flinched violently away from him before her senses returned to her. She looked up at her brother apologetically and quickly grabbed his hand at his hurt look.

"Sorry," she said.

"Don't be," came his quick response.

"It's just... try not to surprise me, okay?" Bill was really the only one of her brothers that could make her act like the young girl she was. "We have a new intruder alarm?" Wasn't anything the same?

"Yes," Kingsley said in a soothing voice. "We thought it would be best for both you and Harry."

"Well then, who's here now?" She couldn't stop herself from asking, because she did not need another person staring at her as if she were about to break.

"Don't worry, Gin, you'll like this guest," George said.

"Not-as-much-as-Ron," Fred managed to squeeze out in a fake cough.

Ginny turned her inquisitive stare to Ron who was already red-faced.

"I… uh, asked a friend to come," he said.

"Friend… riiight," George replied, sharing conspiratorial looks with Fred.

"Because," Ron continued, trying to talk over the twins. "I thought, and Dumbledore agreed, that she probably knows more about house-elf history than anyone."

"Hermione!" Ginny squealed, oblivious to the relief her smile brought to the room's occupants.

Hermione's voice came from the kitchen. "Honestly, those are the worst security questions I have ever heard. Anyone at Hogwarts would know those answers!"

"You may not enter until we are certain you are not an impostor!"

Ginny could practically hear Hermione roll her eyes. "Fine. On Ron Weasley's left buttocks there is an extreme concentration of freckles right below a scar left by a fanged geranium that he got when we were studying for the O.W.L.s two years ago. Go ask him about it. I doubt even his mother knows about that!"

The twins were practically rolling on the floor.

Charlie leaned in toward Ron and whispered, "Right, studying..."

Ron was now fire-hydrant red. He huffed, "She treated it for me... we were studying after hours and going to Madame Pomfrey would have gotten us caught."

"After hours," Bill said, nudging him approvingly.

"Hermione and I are just friends..."

She came into the room, hair bouncing behind her, with her purposeful strides straight toward Ginny, ignoring the sleeping figure on the couch. Ginny stood and met Hermione's hug.

Hermione was crying. "I'm so glad you're alright," she said turning their hug into a dance. "I was so worried."

"Thanks for coming," Ginny said sincerely. "The boys are going to drive me crazy."

"I figured... Plus it may be easier to talk to me about what's happened," she added. "I mean," she said changing tacts at Ginny's exasperated face. "At least you know I won't go running off in a temper-induced rage to avenge you."

Ginny laughed. "You have no idea how right you are."

"So, Hermione..." George said, smoothly siding up to her. "If I sit on a venomous plant will you treat my wounds as well?" he said with a devilish grin.

Hermione's eyes glanced at Ron who was staring red-faced at the floor and scuffing the ground violently with his shoe. Hermione tossed her hair back over her shoulder and leaned in closer to George, mirroring his grin. She paused deliberately.

"Nope," she said with a straight face before rolling her eyes and leaning back. "I'd probably let you die..."

Ginny didn't miss the loaded look shared between Hermione and Ron. Hermione had definitely done that for his benefit.

There was a sudden stirring near Ginny on the couch. Harry's unexpected abandonment of his motionless state startled many and caused the blanket that had been covering him to slide to the floor.

Hermione gasped as Harry fell to the floor, as if fighting some unseen enemy.

"Is he coming out of it?" Ginny demanded falling to the floor beside him.

"It appears so... I have never seen someone force their way out of it," Dumbledore said.

"Pull him out," Ginny said concern rising. "He's going to hurt himself."

Dumbledore pulled out his wand and leaned over Harry. "Move back!" Ginny ordered to the room at large. "Now! He'll be terrified if he sees all of you as soon as he wakes."

With one last sweeping motion Dumbledore removed the spell holding Harry in a deep sleep

After fourteen hours of motionless sleep one would have expected Harry to awaken slowly, but his eyes popped open, followed by him springing to his feet into a crouch in rapid succession. His terror-filled eyes scanned the room frantically. Ginny dropped low to the floor placing herself in his direct line of sight. A look of recognition passed through his eyes.

"You're real." The smile in his voice was much more evident than it was on his face. Slowly they both rose to standing. Ginny smiled at him.

"I thought you were a dream too," she said sheepishly.

"Really?" he asked perplexed.

"Yeah, you saved me, Harry. I thought I made you up to cope with... everything."

He leaned in close to her and grabbed her wrist. "Who are all these people?"

Ginny glanced sideways as their present company slowly crept back toward the center of the room.

"These people are here to help us. They want to make sure the Malfoys get the punishment they deserve."

For one second he just stared uncomprehendingly at her. Then, Harry collapsed onto the couch behind him. His eyes clenched closed in confusion. He shook his head in disbelief. "Punishment... the Malfoys..." A shuffling of movement by the doorway caused Harry to tense again, much to Ginny's annoyance.

"Dad," she called quietly. "Do you think we could get a lot of these people out of here? It's too much."

He nodded and smiled at her. "I think that's more than reasonable."

"Harry?" Ginny asked gently, pulling his attention back to her. "How are you feeling? Better than yesterday? Are you still being pulled..."

He shook his head. "No. I mean...yes, but it's not as extreme as it was...There is a constant pull..." Ginny watched as something changed in Harry face. He stood abruptly, scanning the room. "What am I doing here?" The question, directed at himself, held such panic.

"Harry, you're at my house. Remember? You got us out..."

"I remember..." he snapped his fingers and then immediately grabbed his head in pain. His groan was low and deep, almost suppressed. Ginny thanked Merlin that the ward kept him here, but hated that it caused him pain.

"Don't you understand what will happen if I don't return...what will happen when I return? I have to be punished."

"No, Harry, you don't," Ginny cried exasperatedly. She immediately decided to change tactics.

"Do I need to be punished?" she asked suddenly. Harry froze.

"You? N-no," came his panicked response.

"I defied them. I escaped. How is that any different than you? What about us is so different, Harry?"

He frowned, subconsciously digging his fingernails deep into the barely healed burns on his palms. "I deserve to be punished. You do not. That's why I got you out."

"So you think it's bad, what they did to me? That they hurt me?" Ginny raised her hand to her short sleeved t-shirt and lifted up the baggy sleeve, revealing a pattern of round shaped burn marks traveling over her bicep and shoulder. She moved closer to Harry so he could see her arm in greater detail, ignoring the response of her family. It was not as if she could keep the scars hidden forever. "Harry, do you think it's okay that they did this to me?"

"No," he gritted out. "I couldn't stand them hurting you...You are the nicest person I have ever met."

She was close now. Her gradual approach had allowed her to move until only a breath separated them. She slowly reached her hand out to his shoulder where an old burn mark, much deeper and thorough then hers appeared. His shoulder looked like hers would have if she had sustained years of the same treatment. She suppressed her shudder at the prospect of such a fate. She traced the outline of thousands of repeated small burns creating one large uneven patch. He regarded her quizzically. The warmth of her hand defied all logic, somehow reaching deeper into him than the scarred surface of his skin.

"iI/i couldn't stand them hurting you either," Ginny continued. "You don't deserve the way you've been treated... Do you remember right before you got us out of there?"

She paused forcing him to remember that moment. "Yes," he said slowly.

"You fought them. You fought against what they stand for and how they treated you. You knew inherently that they way they treated you was wrong. You didn't think you could fight against the power they have over you...but you did." She watched as the green of his eyes moved rapidly back in forth, as if searching for something buried within his own consciousness. She sensed the glimmer of recognition right before his brow contracted with pain.

"What is it?"

"I-I…" he breathed out. "I am not accustomed to... well, to saying my thoughts aloud..."

"Take your time," Ginny coached gently, moving her hand lightly up and down his arm.

He sighed deeply before beginning. "It is as if... there are two parts of me at war. One part is certain you are wrong and the other knows you are right. Every time I draw a conclusion the other half fights back again. My life has never been this confusing."

"I think," Ginny said quietly. "A part of you deep down knows that what you've been taught all your life is wrong. That same part is probably what drew you to Godric's Hollow. Deep down, your gut is telling you that everything your brain knows is wrong."

She let that sink in, pressing him no further. She couldn't tell if he was fighting the psychological control they had over him or if it was something more. As Harry thought, the silent moment grew longer and thicker.

"Ginny? Perhaps you and Harry are hungry? I've made your favorite meal," her mother interjected hopefully.

"Harry, you remember my mum, right?"

He nodded.

"She thinks that food can heal whatever ails you and sometimes I think her food can. Are you hungry?"

He glanced at her cautiously and then offered another slow nod. Mrs. Weasley left the room shortly thereafter, followed by Mr. Weasley.

Ginny glanced surreptitiously around the room at the multitude of hushed conversations taking place. Hermione and Ron were deep in conversation. Ron was trying to field the rapid questions that Hermione was firing at him.

Bill and Charlie were engrossed in conversation with Dumbledore only paces away.

"I think... trust Ginny on this. We should follow her lead," Charlie said in a low register.

"I wouldn't be surprised if she has a plan. She knows we need him to explain things if he is going to get any better," Bill added.

Ginny waited until she saw Dumbledore nod before turning her attention back to Harry. He looked... overwhelmed. She imagined that to someone not used to the chatter her family could create, her home probably sounded like the irritating static heard whenever the wizarding wireless was out of tune.

"My family can be a bit... overwhelming. They were very worried about me, and now that all of us are back together... well, no one is ready to give that up just yet. I can promise you that none of them will harm you. I want you to let me know if it's too much."

"You trust all these people?" he asked her incredulously.

She smiled at him. "Yes, without a doubt. All of the wizards in this room are my family. They would do anything to keep me safe, and they want to help you too. They are grateful that you got me away from that place."

"And who is that?" Harry asked, gesturing to Dumbledore.

"He's the headmaster at Hogwarts—" she responded.

"The wizarding school?"

She smiled at him in response and it almost made him lose his train of sudden increase in his heart rate startled him."Yes," she replied. "He is an amazing wizard. He was a great help to me when I was younger, when I got myself into a bit of trouble. And he was very kind."

"You said he was trying to help me? That's why he bound me?" Ginny nodded sensing Harry's reluctance to forgive and forget that too soon.

"Yes, he wanted to prevent you from hurting yourself. Come on," she said leading him into the kitchen. "I'm starved."

Ginny led Harry into the kitchen and moved with him to sit at the far end of the table, wanting to sit down with him before the rest came traipsing in. He sat where she indicated looking increasingly uncomfortable. She couldn't help but think that while sitting at the table, his state of dress or rather undress seemed more out of place than usual, but she was under no false impression that this was the source of his discomfort.

"It feels weird to be served," he said quietly to her inquisitive eyes, and then watched Mr. and Mrs. Weasley load the table manually with dishes. He fidgeted nervously pushing his long hair black off his face. "I've never actually sat at a table," he admitted unthinkingly. Mrs. Weasley's head whipped toward him, and every mothering string, of which there were multitudes, struck creating a resounding chord of sympathy and compassion within her. Ginny noticed that those who were already seated went silent. Obviously they had all been eavesdropping on her conversation with Harry.

"Well then, you're in for a real treat, Harry. My mum is the best cook. You'll have to try a bit of everything," Ginny said smoothly. She watched as the rest filed in, glad that Hermione and Ron landed closest to her and Harry, and Dumbledore with her eldest brothers landed furthest.

"Eat up," Mrs. Weasley commanded and the order was immediately heeded.

Harry cautiously mirrored all of Ginny's actions. There was a moment of silence as everyone began devouring the food before them. Harry raised the fork awkwardly but carefully to his mouth. Almost immediately a small pleasurable groan escaped him. All heads whipped his way. Ginny smirked and turned her head to him in time to see the shock flitter over his face, though whether the shock was at the taste or his own involuntary reaction she had no idea.

"Good?" she teased.

He swallowed quickly. "Yes," came his empathetic response.

"I told you my mum could cook."

He leaned out past her to look down the row. He met Mrs. Weasley's eyes briefly. "Thank you," he said determinedly before dropping his eyes, his voice barely audible from down the table.

Harry's down-turned face missed the tears that welled in Mrs. Weasley's eyes. "Oh dear, you are more than welcome. Eat all you'd like." Mr. Weasley wondered where he had learned his manners, surely not from the Malfoys.

Harry continued to eat with zest. The air at the table grew thick with uncertainty. Silence was completely foreign to the Weasley household. Hermione met Ginny's eyes across the table. Even having just arrived, Hermione could sense the impending urgency from the other end of the table. They wanted answers and Ginny knew they would start working their way to get those answers if she didn't act soon.

"This tastes a lot better than what you gave me at…" She swallowed. "… the Malfoys."

Harry turned and looked straight at her. Pain... fear... emotions he recognized and understood... but he hated seeing them on her face.

"What was it?" she asked evenly. He regarded her a moment before answering quietly.

"Sustenance. The elves taught me how to generate it. Sometimes they—we... were ordered to go without meals, but without nourishment we could not complete our tasks. It was a great source of dilemma. The elves called it the paradox: whenever two orders conflict with one another the choice remains with the slave. Compromise or disobey one of the orders... punishment would be unavoidable." Harry shook his head. Something about her made him forthcoming, and not for the first time he wondered if she possessed some indeterminate magical abilities.

"But... food cannot be created out of thin air. Food is one of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. No wizard can do it," Hermione said gently.

"The elves can," he said simply.

"And so can you," Ginny interjected. Harry nodded not seeing her point.

"But, Harry... you are a wizard," Hermione said, unable to stop herself. The conflict on Harry's face was displayed to the world for the span of one breath before he schooled his expression, replacing the unadulterated emotion with a stony apathy.

"So the elves taught you... did they teach you other things?" Ginny asked in an attempt to re-direct the conversation.

"They taught me everything." The table was now like a single organism, leaning closer, holding its breath, desperate for more information.

"Do you remember when you first met the elves?" Ginny asked and the room became a vacuum. All that existed was Harry, Ginny and the single entity that made up their audience.

"I have a faint memory... of waking up with more pain than my mind could comprehend, surrounded by these foreign-looking creatures..." Suddenly Harry was choking. He gagged, trying get oxygen into his lungs.

"Harry!?" Ginny cried in alarm. He opened his mouth again as if to speak only to find all of his attention diverted to the peculiar sensation of his tongue sliding back down his own throat.

Harry suddenly crashed his head into the table. He reared back in order to strike the table again, but Ginny moved her hands quickly to the table's edge. And when Harry's head made contact, instead of meeting the harsh corner of the table, his head fell right into Ginny's open palms. The unexpected sensation was enough to break him out of his trance and render him motionless. His head lay still, cushioned by Ginny's hands on the table. She ran her thumbs soothingly over his hairline.

"I-I... I can't," Harry said without any attempt to lift his head, which only compounded the note of defeat in his tone.

"Harry... it's okay," Ginny said. "Somehow, we can make this okay."

"I just... don't understand," he said quietly, lifting his head off the table. "You can't be right," he said turning to her. "There must be something wrong with me, some reason I am like this. Are there no other humans who are like me?"

"Harry, this stuff, how you came to be like this, it's not your fault. We will find you a way out of this. I promise. That's what all these people are here for, to help you—to break this control over you."

Dumbledore cleared his throat softly. "Harry, she is right. This is not your fault. This is mine. Your parents trusted that I would keep you safe. I tried. I do not know how it is that someone was able to take you out of the security wards I had placed surrounding you. Right now I have other witches and wizards trying to discern how you were removed from your aunt and uncle's care.

"Aunt and uncle?" Harry asked in weary confusion. "Yes," Dumbledore replied. "I delivered you to them myself."

"So... so, my... parents—they wanted me to live with them?"

"Well," Dumbledore said reluctantly. "Not exactly..."

Harry suddenly breathed in deeply through his nose. His chair was sent crashing to the floor a millisecond later as he sprang to his feet. That smell… he knew that smell. He knew better than this, knew better than to trust anyone.

"Harry? Harry, what is it?" Ginny asked, approaching him cautiously. He grabbed her arm pulling her to him and then snapped his fingers. Immediately he bent over at the waist clenching his head in pain with a resounding groan. A man entered the doorway across the room from Harry flanked by two of the wizards that were guarding the Burrow.

Harry pulled Ginny roughly behind him dropping into a low defensive crouch, as he watched the haggard looking man step into the room. His clothes were shabby. His eyes looked sullen. His smell filled the room, acting as a catalyst, opening some of the best locked boxes in Harry's head.

"Harry! Please!" Ginny was crying in his ear. "Please relax. What's wrong?"

"That man is no man," Harry said in a low voice, not taking his eyes off the threat.

The room was still, save for the desperate glances around the room for a way to diffuse the situation. Harry regarded the threat, trying to determine what his first move would be. But the man gave no indication that he intended to do anything but stand in the doorway.

"You stay away from me," Harry ground out.

"Okay," the man said, holding his hands out palms out to indicate his lack of a wand.

Harry's panicked panting ceased momentarily as he absorbed the shock of the creatures lack of hostility.

"I will stay right here," he continued in a soft, non-threatening voice. What was this trickery? "I am not here to hurt you in anyway."

Distrustful confusion splashed over Harry's face before he tensed even further. Sparks began emitting from his fingertips, casting blood red shadows on the floor below him.

"What? You prefer girls, Werewolf!?" Harry shot his hand out sending the man flying back and crashing into the ground. Ginny used this moment to force her way out of Harry's protective stance and plant herself in front of him.

"Harry, no!" She reached up and grabbed his hands, lacing his fingers with hers. She pulled their joint hands together. "Listen to me. You have to stop. That man is a friend."

"He is a werewolf," Harry said definitively.

"I know," Ginny said. "That is Remus Lupin. He is a good man and he will not hurt any of us. You have to trust me, Harry. I won't let anything happen to you," she said, shaking their clasped hands with emphasis. Ginny looked back over her shoulder to see Bill and Charlie helping Lupin into a chair.

"Is he okay?" she asked.

"I'll be fine, Ginny," he responded quietly. "I should have known better. You did say he was raised by the Malfoys."

"That's not it," Ginny said dismissively. "It's not prejudice." She turned back to Harry who was watching Lupin closely. The fear in his eyes seemed more obvious than a hippogriff in a bikini. It practically radiated off him; she didn't know how the others couldn't see that.

"Why does he scare you so much?" Ginny asked softly, reaching to push Harry's long unruly hair away from his face. Harry swallowed convulsively. He was shaking now.

"He smells like him."

"Like who?"

"Greyback," he said, beginning to shake outright. His breathing became more labored as his eyes lost their focus. A memory came to Harry's mind… the pain, sharp teeth… and that grin… just the memory of it sent Harry's adrenaline sky-rocketing in an attempt to keep up with his mounting panic.

"Greyback... I thought the Malfoys were just threatening me into talking..." Harry could see her fear.

"Now do you understand why we need to leave? I want to protect you from this," he said, turning slightly show her the scars on his back.

Ginny swallowed back the emotion that was choking her with its intensity. So that was what happened to his back. It look like someone had used him to sharpen a blade. Criss-crossing patterns covered the majority of his back. Now Ginny knew… teeth and claws—not a knife—were sharpened in Harry's flesh. How much suffering had he had to endure? Her resolve to take down the Malfoys grew exponentially.

"Remus Lupin is nothing like Greyback, Harry. Just as all wizards aren't the same, neither are all werewolves."

The room's occupants voyeuristically observed the two in silence. Harry was so different when he interacted with Ginny. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

"You know this... man?"

"Yes," Ginny said, dropping one of his hands and turning to face where Lupin was sitting. "Harry, I'd like to introduce you to Remus Lupin. He used to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts and he occasionally comes here to teach me some Defense."

"Hi, Harry. I'm sorry to have scared you. We should have warned you about me, but honestly I had no idea you would be able to tell in less than a minute that I'm—well, that I have a bit of a problem. Greyback is the werewolf who attacked me. That's why I smell so much like him to you. But I have never attacked anyone."

Harry regarded him thoughtfully. So this man had also been attacked by Greyback, attacked when Greyback was a wolf and then unwillingly turned. This man fought his nature, much like Harry had been fighting his. He felt a sudden rush of compassion for the man. Greyback was certainly not merciful.

As Harry's face changed, losing his fierce anger and fear, Remus couldn't help but stare, even as tears distorted his vision. It was as if James Potter was alive again, albeit dressed for a Halloween Party. But still… to see a full grown version of your dead best friend was a shock to the system. When kindness entered Harry's eyes Lupin gasped.

Harry tensed again at the sound.

"I'm sorry," Lupin said quickly. "It's just... you look so much like your parents. It's uncanny." The rough emotion in his voice prompted Mrs. Weasley to offer a kind pat to his shoulder.

"You knew them?" Harry asked.

"Yes, quite well. That's why I came as soon as I heard. I thought this might help," he said, reaching into his messenger bag and pulling out a tattered book.

Ginny could sense Harry's hesitation to close the distance between him and the man who evoked such a strange melange of feelings within him. She moved to walk closer to Lupin to take the book from him, but Harry's tug on her hand from where it was still clasped in his held her back. Ginny turned back to see Harry's panicked eyes and froze. She understood his need to keep her close; she felt the same.

Hermione walked past the two and took the book from Lupin with a small smile, and then turned and handed it to Ginny. She opened the fragile book to see a large photo of Harry's parents holding a baby Harry, who was smiling and waving at the camera.

"I managed to recover the book from the remnants of the house," Lupin said softly, thus explaining the burnt edges and fragile binding.

"My... parents?" Harry asked.

"James and Lily. Two of the most amazing people I have ever met."

Harry and Ginny flipped slowly through the damaged pages. Harry was silent, contemplative, as he flipped through the pages that elicited a strange persistent nudging sensation on his consciousness.

"And this… Voldemort… killed them? Voldemort... the man the Malfoys have pledged to devoutly follow. He is the one whom they call The Dark Lord?" Harry's voice was rising, something Ginny had not heard him do before. "My master's master killed my parents? They... they stole me from someone? They did something that was unnatural to me? This is what you are all trying to get me to believe?" He felt a foreign stinging in his eyes. His breath would not come easily but he couldn't stop. He became too filled with confusion and unfamiliar feelings to hold back any longer. He did not know how to cope with any of this.

"If I believe you, everything I know to be true is a lie. I did not deserve to be punished. It was not my fault. I... I submitted to their rule needlessly. That is more than a little difficult to believe."

Ginny nodded. This was too much for him to handle in such a short time. No one seemed to know how to respond. No one knew how to relate.

"So the pain... it was not to make me a better servant. The punishment was not because I was too stupid to properly do the simple tasks they demanded of me. They enjoyed it. It was revenge—more! They were trying to avenge their master by torturing me! They are horrible, dark, wizards. They are the ones who deserve to be punish—"

But it seemed that Harry had pushed it too far. Before anyone could react he turned where he stood, closest to the stove, and dove both of his hands into the large pot of boiling water. He cried out in agony as a sickly sizzling noise filled the room, before the smell overtook everyone's senses.

"Harry, no!" Ginny cried, hurrying to him and pulling ineffectually on his shoulders. In the end it took three of her brothers to successfully pull Harry away from the stove. His skin was raw, angry red and sickly white of variegated texture up to his elbows. Harry's face was clenched in pain as they carried him out of the kitchen, carefully avoiding any contact with his arms.

Mrs. Weasley was tending to him before he had even sunk onto the couch. He held his arms out limp before her hanging his head. Only from the gentle shaking of his shoulders could she tell that he was crying. She had more than a little experience dealing with boys who tried to hide their emotions. Mrs. Weasley moved tenderly over the wounds carefully dabbing a cool cloth that she had conjured to them. She began doling out orders, knowing only a properly brewed potion would be able to handle burns such as these and regenerate the skin that was destroyed.

The room became much quieter as all but Hermione and Ginny had left in order to help brew the complex potion.

"Harry dear, I'd like to use my wand to help support your arms without touching them. Is that all right?"

The subtle nod of his still downturned face was the only response she got. She waved her wand, supporting his arms in front of him and helping to dull the pain.

"Harry, is that better?"

Another nod.

"The potion will help regenerate the skin really fast. In a few hours you'll be as good as new."

"I can't even talk about them. I... I can't fight them. When... When it gets like that, I don't even remember that I should fight it. "

"But that's why this happened—because you are fighting them, fighting against what they taught you," Ginny interjected.

He finally lifted his water-logged gaze in order to look at her.

"I don't really understand how this happened to you," Hermione started quietly. "But you seem to be under genuine house-elf enchantments. I don't quite understand how this is even possible, but there is both a magical and psychological component to this. I have been thinking... there may be something simple that can help until we figure out the complexities,"

"Help?" Harry asked.

"Help you fight them, help you learn to fight the compulsions they've drilled into you. I don't think it will stop anything entirely, but it might help you remember to fight. But it will make little to no difference if you aren't ready to fight for your separation from them."

"What are you getting at Hermione?" Ginny asked impatiently.

"Well… clothes," Hermione responded.

"You think it will make a difference?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"It would make more of a difference if the Malfoys gave him the clothes, but the ultimate form of rebellion for a house-elf would be wearing clothes. Perhaps if Harry tried... well, it may help him fight the compulsions," Hermione said, turning to the boy next to her.

Ginny had never been more appreciative of Hermione's obsessive nature. The thoroughness of research she had done for S.P.E.W. was bound to prove itself useful.

"What do you think, Harry?" Ginny asked, dropping to the floor in front of him to see his face better.

He was silent for a while. In his unavoidable line of sight were his scarred arms and Ginny's trusting, hopeful face. Suffering... and salvation. He knew what he wanted he just did not know if he could get there.

"I-I want t-t-to....fight. I want to try." Ginny reached up and gave his knee a light squeeze. "I just—I'm not sure I can."

"It's done," Bill announced, helping Charlie carry the thick cauldron into the room. Mrs. Weasley observed it, momentarily smelling it and testing its consistency. She dipped a cloth into the thick paste and handed it to Ginny. Ginny followed her mother's previous actions, carefully dabbing Harry's arm with the paste. He looked up at her thankfully before closing his eyes, deeply breathing in the soothing sensation the potion brought.

After she was done Ginny grabbed a pillow, placed it on Harry's lap, and then placed a clean cloth on top of it. Slowly, she lowered Harry's arms so they rested against the pillow, still covered in the potion. He fell back against the couch, resting his head and sighing deeply.

A sudden clattering in the room sent Harry sitting up ramrod, straight and alert. Mrs. Weasley got up taking the rags with her. "Boys, grab that cauldron and package up the salve and go find something to do to help out."

After the mass exodus, Ron cautiously peeked around the corner into the room. He held the photo album in front of him and slowly walked toward where Harry was seated.

"Hey... here," Ron said, placing the book on the coffee table nearest Harry. "I-I just thought you might want this. I know if it was me, I'd want to look at the photos again as soon as possible... might make it seem more real."

"Thanks," Harry said, though Ron saw him say it more than he heard it.

"No problem, mate," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Covered in goo."

"Ah. So, better then?" Ron chuckled. The briefest of smiles crossed Harry's face.

Ginny picked up the album and began slowly thumbing through it, holding it where Harry could see. She found the spot where they had left off. When she reached a picture with Lupin and his parents she stopped.

"The werewolf?" Harry asked. "So if these photos are real then he's telling the truth. He did know them."

"The photos are real," Hermione stated matter-of-factly.

"So you two know the werewolf also?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Hermione replied. "Professor Remus Lupin. He taught us Defense Against the Dark Arts in our third year, Ginny's second. Great teacher."

"Even though he tarnished your perfect record?" Ron teased. Hermione turned and glared at him.

"I'll have you know, I still did well in his class."

"Still, that was the only exam you didn't get a perfect score on..."

Ginny smirked as she and she alone detected the touch of pride and admiration in his voice. Those two were hopeless.

"Harry, she practically lives in the library," Ron added.

"So would I," Harry responded quietly. They all turned to look at him. "If I could... The library was the only room I liked at the Malfoys. They hardly ever went in there. So the other elves would help me sneak in there a lot so I could read..."

The idea of reading as a luxury struck the other three hard. Sometimes it was so easy to take things for granted.

"Did you read a lot?"

"Yeah, I made it through the majority of their library before... before I got caught." The memory of the incident seemed to silence him.

Harry's eyes had returned to the photo album so Ginny began turning pages again until she came across a photo of baby Harry on a toy broom with his father chasing him around in circles. Ginny laughed, showing the picture to Ron and Hermione as well.

"Is that me flying?" Harry asked.

Ginny nodded. "You look like a natural," she said warmly.

"I've always dreamed about flying..."

"We've got some brooms, granted not any good ones, out back. We'll have to have a go sometime," Ron said enthusiastically.

"Like outside?" Harry asked.

Ron chuckled. "Well, yeah."

"I haven't really been outside much before... well before I met Ginny." She smiled at him while admonishing the butterflies that became all a twitter at the tender way in which he said her name, associating her with the positive changes in his life.

"Well then, we'll have to do so—and soon. Ginny's an excellent flier. I bet you've missed it. Eh, Ginny? Bet you're dying to get back on a broom."

"Yes, and thanks," Ginny said, a little taken aback by Ron's unprovoked kindness. The real question was if the shift in Ron's demeanor was due to the fact that Hermione was in the room or because of her own absence. Perhaps he was just growing up.

"WHAT!?"

All four teens whipped their heads to the booming voice.

"Was that Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione asked in a small worried voice. The two n

Weasleys could do nothing but nod in response.

"And you're sure? You are absolutely sure?" he asked, barely lowering his voice.

The four were still and silent as Dumbledore swept powerfully into the room, bringing the commotion with him. He looked at the faces of the young pupils before him. Fear, concern, and wariness battled out in their expressions. Dumbledore took a deep breath and returned back to the man they knew, the type of wizard one always wanted in a crisis: calm, collected and straight to the point.

Dumbledore exhaled and turned to Harry and Ginny. "We found something at the Dursleys."

"Dursleys?" Ginny asked in confusion.

"Harry's aunt and uncle whom he lived with right after his parents passed," Dumbledore supplied. "We've been trying to figure out how it was he got taken away from there, given all of the powerful wards that we had protecting him."

Ginny didn't know where this was headed, but she knew she wouldn't like it.

"Ginny, Harry, I'm sorry, but... we found Polyjuice Potion."

"I thought Harry's relatives were Muggles," Ginny interjected.

"So did I, so did we all," Dumbledore said wearily.

"I don't understand," Ginny replied in frustration.

"It was a Polyjuice Potion to make Vernon Dursley look like Lucius Malfoy."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Harry stared apprehensively at the pile Ginny placed before him. She sat down next to him patiently, watching him stare at the stack as if it were his newest foe.

"It's okay, Harry. You don't have to do anything you don't want to, or don't feel ready to. Start with just a sock, or put the shirt on but don't button it, or ignore the clothes completely. No pressure," she said and smiled.

Her smile was strained, something not many would notice, but he had studied her face extensively, perhaps more than anyone. Her face was always so expressive; almost every time he looked at her, it looked different. He still was having trouble recognizing all the emotions she was capable of expressing. But this was the face he had seen since yesterday. The discovery of Polyjuice Potion shook her hard. It seemed to add a layer of stress on her face and every other emotion was expressed on the canvas of that stress. It colored her every emotion, dulling the happiness, and increasing the worry and fear.

"You are upset," he said quietly to her, thankful that for once they were left alone.

"Yes," Ginny said softly. She made a point to never lie or conceal things from Harry. It was step one of her earn-and-keep-his-trust plan.

"Why?"

"It's the Polyjuice Potion..." she sighed. "There's this chance, likely even, that Lucius was not the man that took me, not the man that hurt us... making every part of my testimony practically useless, leaving my attacker faceless..." She shuddered. "Somehow that makes him scarier."

"I do not understand. I serve..." he swallowed hard, focusing. "… served the Malfoys. They took you."

For a second Ginny let his conviction sweep her away. "Well... they found Polyjuice Potion... potion that can make one person look like another at the house of your aunt and uncle."

"The Dursleys? And... I used to live there?"

"That's what Dumbledore said. That's why they are taking the potion so seriously. Dumbledore delivered you to the Dursleys. He placed protective wards on the house—magic to keep you alive... safe. He didn't think that anyone would be able to penetrate such strong magic. So the idea that maybe it was the Dursleys that hurt you... well, it may explain a few things. But there's a problem with that theory too: all of the Dursleys were believed to be Muggles. Apparently they are looking into this right now. If the one of the Dursleys is somehow magical... well that would make the idea that they were the ones keeping us captive even more plausible."

"But it does not seem... coherent. Why would someone impersonate someone else for sixteen years?"

"I have not a clue, Harry."

"So we need more information..." he said slowly.

She smiled at him. Was it strange how much he liked that? "Yes, we really do."

"Thus the... clothes."

"Well yes—but Harry, if we are right the clothes may help you do more than just tell us about who held you and I. It would bring you closer to being independent of... your past."

He picked up the white shirt as if it might attack him. Ginny had picked out the lightest shirt she could find, anything to make this easier. Already his hand was shaking where it held the shirt away from his body.

"It is not that I have not touched clothes before..." Harry said, watching his own hand shake. "It's just that I have never had the intent of putting them on before." He dropped the shirt in his lap. He breathed in and out deeply as he kept a watchful eye on the shirt. Ginny watched cautiously, not sure of what to do.

"Maybe this isn't a good idea..." she said, worried at the haggard expression on Harry's face.

"No. I iwant/i to do this. I am ready to fight." She felt pride unfurl within her. She could feel it pressing out against her sternum. "Will you help me?" he asked, his voice even softer than usual.

"Of course."

He handed her the shirt. She looked at him questioningly, suddenly feeling like she was holding an explosive.

"Just... let's go slowly," he said. He looked into her eyes then, and his trust was as clear as day. Suddenly Ginny felt the heavy weight of responsibility. This was a person who trusted no one—had been taught over and over how trust led only to pain—and he was placing his trust in her.

She turned to him on the couch, reaching out slowly to place her hand on his. She moved her thumb soothingly on the skin there before slowly lifting his arm. She brought a sleeve to his hand and slowly slid it around his wrist. He began shaking, almost vibrating with restraint. She paused as soon as she got the sleeve past his hand. Immediately she resumed her soft caress of his hand. He closed his eyes breathing deeply. When he finally opened his eyes his shaking had become less intermittent.

He gave Ginny a nod, which she took to mean to continue. Slowly she slid the sleeve up his arm adding circular massages as she went, trying to mix in some sense of pleasurable sensation to counteract his obviously painful struggle. When the shirt made it all the way up to his shoulder she paused again.

She heard his teeth slam shut and then grind together. He began panting, shaking enough to almost throw himself right off the couch. His hands clenched, digging his nails into his thighs. Ginny's heart rate jumped exponentially as she considered yelling for help in her panic, but he had made her promise that no one else would be here for this. He hated feeling vulnerable in a crowd. If others came traipsing in, it would only panic him more.

"Harry! Are you okay?"

"All I can think of are all the ways I could punish myself..." The obvious strain in his voice scared her. "It is taking everything in me to not run over to that broken picture frame I've spotted on the far wall and scrape the jagged edge down my arm... and then over my leg... and then finally smash it and walk all over it until my feet are slick with blood..."

Horror filled Ginny as she saw Harry's legs tense as he tried to resist the urge to stand. He was losing the battle. He was getting up...

"No!" she cried, doing the first thing that came to mind. She flipped where she was sitting, tossing one leg over so that she was now straddling on his lap. Her sudden weight forced Harry back into the couch fully. The move also brought her face a dragon heartstring's width from his. She rested her forehead against his; they were both breathing hard now.

"No," she said softly. "Don't hurt yourself. Now you'll have to throw me to the floor if you try."

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered, clenching his eyes closed and letting her head support his. He felt the tips of her hair brush the one shoulder that was still bare. It was so so soft. He breathed in all that was her, the smell, the feel. Whether it was knowing his actions would hurt her, or the sudden welcome assault to his senses that she had unwittingly fired, it did not matter. All that mattered was that his attention was diverted. The loss of self he experienced whenever he was driven to punish himself was overwhelming. She managed to break him out of that reverie and pull him back to reality.

"Okay," he whispered after a long moment.

She looked at him, judging how sure he was that he was ready to continue. She eased his shoulders forward, toward her, and moved the shirt around his back until the second sleeve reached the opposite shoulder. "How do you feel?"

"Just keep going... please."

She lifted his elbow, placing his hand near the sleeve's opening and then slowly led his arm through the sleeve. Gently she pulled the front of the shirt over. She reached up and flipped the color so it lay comfortably against his skin. He was tense beneath her, holding himself in a grip that would rival a grindylow's. Even his arms were rigid where they rested on the couch beside the two of them.

Ginny moved her hand over the cloth, circling her palm right over his heart. One of his hands reached up to cover hers. It was the first time he had initiated contact. He held his hand on hers marveling at the delicate uninterrupted skin on the back of her hand before moving her hand across his chest and placing it over a button.

"Harry... you've already managed so much..."

"I can do it."

"I have no doubt that you can. You are the strongest person I have ever met." She watched carefully, schooling her surprise as a faint red blush diffused over his cheeks.

"Please? I can't do it... not without help."

She immediately complied, wanting him to know that when he asked for help, help would be given. The first button closed, and then the second. She felt his stomach twitch briefly when she reached the lower buttons. Finally, she was done. The shirt was on.

Harry focused on breathing in and out... slowly, trying hard to remind himself that the shirt was not tight enough to be physically restricting, especially considering how light and loose the shirt fit. Harry felt contained, but as he breathed, reassured that his lungs had all the room they needed, he began to relax. He felt the tension finally ease out of him like the last viscous drop of maple syrup.

He swallowed, surprised at the sudden rush of his own emotions. Despite the strange prickling in his eyes, he looked up to stare unabashedly into Ginny's eyes. In her gaze he saw something he had never seen before, never directed at him at least. He barely understood it...pride, he decided. She was proud of him? A warm feeling diffused through his torso that had nothing to do with the cover the shirt—ihis/i shirt provided.

Ginny tossed her arms around him. "You did it!"

He could practically hear her smile in his ear. Instinctively his hands went to her waist, pulling her slightly closer where she could rest against his chest. He felt her all around him, a feeling that somehow went beyond the physical sensations of her proximity. He let his head fall to her shoulder mirroring her.

"You are an amazing person, Harry Potter." The warm feeling expanded, threatening to break his ribs with its intensity. He felt his lips move without any conscious effort, the corners tilting up slightly. So this was what happy felt like.

She pulled back to look at him, to reassure herself that he was okay. His smile greeted her and she smiled back.

"Do you feel any different?" Ginny asked after a moment.

Harry shrugged in confusion. "I… don't know. I mean, I do—feel different. But I don't know what exactly the difference is. I still feel the link to my masters... but it seems…" He paused searching for the words. "… easier… easier to fight the influence."

Ginny looked at him thoughtfully before remembering their current state. "Oh," she said, sliding off his lap guiltily. "I'm sorry... I—"

"Don't be," was his only response. Their gazes then slid, almost shyly, from each other and fell to the remaining clothes. Ginny suddenly felt an increase in her heart rate. Now what? She looked back at Harry, now wearing a clean white button-down shirt and an old pillow case. The juxtaposition made her laugh impossible to suppress. He looked at her questioningly, and at her vague gesture to his appearance he looked down to examine himself.

He joined her in the laugh. "I'm sorry, Harry. It's the stress..." Ginny said, trying to control her mirth.

"What? You don't like my outfit?"

Ginny stopped, suddenly worried that he would think she was laughing at him, but then she saw a new glint in his eyes. Slowly, a small barely detectable smirk slid across his face. "You picked it out," he said.

Ginny blinked rapidly in shock before laughing outright again. "Are you teasing me, Mr. Potter?"

He looked confused a moment. "I think I am..." He nodded to himself. "Another first," he said quietly. He had made her laugh—on purpose. He had brought that look to her face, gone was the stress he had seen all morning.

"What was that?" Ginny asked.

"Another first for me," Harry said.

"Are you ready for another?" she asked.

He looked at her in wary curiosity.

"It's a beautiful day outside. I thought we'd go to the pond, or perhaps try your hand at flying," she said nonchalantly.

"Really?" he asked. Unlike most people, for Harry this was not an expression of excitement, but an honest question, one to which he did not expect to receive an affirmative answer.

"Yes," Ginny said. "Really. But... I'm afraid you'll need trousers if you plan to get on a broom," she said pointedly, looking at the remaining clothes on the table.

Harry nodded so Ginny reached and once again placed the pile in his lap. Harry lifted to the two items by the tips of his fingers as if checking them for stink sap.

"These," Ginny said, indicating the item in his left hand. "… go under those." She pointed to a pair of dark blue loose shorts. She had tried to pick out what would be comfortable for someone who was not used to clothing. It was still July. Ron had handed her the shorts with two words, 'They're breezy'.

"I think… I think I can do it," he said. "But... don't leave."

Ginny smiled at him before turning slightly so that her back was to him. Harry found himself suddenly overwhelming thankful that she had turned her back. Strange… he had never been all that modest before.

"Thank you," he said softly.

Ginny heard a rustle of clothing which she took to mean he was trying.

Harry took a deep breath, untying the rope belt around his waist. His hands started to shake so he decided that he still needed a bit of a distraction. "So, uh…" he began, "… you said there is a pond?"

"Yes," Ginny responded. "It's nice, small enough to be warm on nice summer days but big enough to swim in. It's pretty; I like to go out there sometimes to think. Everything alright?" she asked without turning to him.

He had stopped moving. The pants were halfway there. "Yes," he said standing up on weak legs. "Just keep talking." And as she continued to talk of her home and her favorite parts he managed to slide on both the pants and the shorts.

"Okay," he said. "You can turn around."

She turned and there stood Harry pulling at the shorts awkwardly before experimentally sticking his hands in his pockets. He looked up at her shyly, and his shoulders rose to his ears.

Ginny let the feeling she had been holding back overwhelm her for a second. Now that he was finally free of the uniform that symbolized his slavery Ginny was able to admit her attraction to him.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Strange... but not bad."

She looked at him critically for a second. "You know there is one more thing..." she said warily, albeit with a certain hint of mischief.

"What's that?" he said, matching her wariness but not her excitement.

"Your hair... Don't you think you'd be a tad bit more comfortable without your hair in your eyes?"

Harry held a piece of his almost shoulder length hair questioningly. In truth, his hair had always bothered him. Even with its length it never seemed to lay flat, causing it to endlessly be in his eyes. The Malfoys had always sneered at his unkemptness, a physical way to emphasize his inferiority, With the new found clarity he had been afforded, Harry could see this. It made him eager to chop it off.

"I-I would like to do that."

"Great! My mum's practically an expert; she's cut all of my brothers' hair while growing up—well, that is, until Bill started to refuse."

Without conscious thought, Ginny grabbed Harry's hand and began leading him toward where she was certain to find her mother, the kitchen. Harry almost tripped over his feet in his attempt to keep up with Ginny. He smiled at her enthusiasm. Mrs. Weasley heard the commotion of Ginny powering through the living room toward her and turned to see what was happening. She promptly dropped the dish in her hand.

"Wow...Harry..." Harry's sudden fixation with the floor and flushed cheeks made her drop the compliment that was already formed on her lips. "Um, how do you feel?" she asked instead.

"Um, pretty good. Now, that is..." he responded. Mrs. Weasley shared a glance with Ginny, but otherwise let Harry's comment slide.

"We were thinking perhaps you could cut Harry's hair? We're planning on going out and maybe flying a bit?" Ginny asked hopefully.

Mrs. Weasley automatically smiled at her daughter. She had not seen her this lighthearted since Christmas. This only served to assuage her concerns that Ginny was more focused on Harry than her own recovery. Her daughter had always been quite the caregiver. Mrs. Weasley thought fondly of a time when Ginny was young and naive, and wanted nothing more than to help her mother care for her brothers. She could not prevent the nostalgic sigh that escaped her. But, it looked like Harry and Ginny were good for each other. Maybe together they could work their way past this. She wondered if she should be more concerned about her teenage daughter's strong emotional connection to her hero...

"Oh, some fresh air sounds like a good idea. Sure Harry, just sit here," she said gesturing to the nearest chair. Harry sat and pushed his hair back from his face. He was distracted for a second by the feel of the shirt on his back against the chair. Mrs. Weasley pulled her wand out and brought it towards Harry's long hair.

Out of the corner of his eyes Harry saw the offensive object draw near, and in an instant he was out of the chair, sending it crashing back, and immediately clambered under the table.

Mrs. Weasley was hit by a rush of regret. He was acting so normal that for a moment she forgot the precautions she should be taking around him. And as a result the boy who had seconds ago been happy and shy—maladjusted perhaps, but happy—was literally cowering beneath the table in fear.

"Harry," Ginny said softly as she slowly lowered herself to peer under the table.

He was still shaking when he lifted his head from his knees. "I'm s-s-sorry," he said. "I-I..."

"It's okay," Ginny said, simply holding out her hand with a small smile. After a moment's hesitation he reached out to grabbed it and let her help him up.

"Harry, dear, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you," Mrs. Weasley said from a much greater distance away from him.

"I-It's not that I thought you were going to hurt me..." he said, still not able to look in her eyes. "It... It was just..."

"… instinct," Ginny finished for him, to which he nodded, thankful she understood.

"It's my fault, Harry. I shouldn't have startled you."

Harry reached up and pushed back his unruly hair again with deep seated frustration. He was growing to hate his weaknesses. Mrs. Weasley watched with concern. "Ginny, why don't you do it?" she said, turning to her daughter. "Goodness knows you've seen me cut the boys' hair enough times."

Harry turned to her hopefully. Ginny gestured to the chair that had been re-righted. Once Harry was once again seated, Ginny turned to face him.

"Is it alright if I use my wand?" she asked. He nodded, so she pulled it out where he could clearly see it.

She approached him slowly and then gently began combing her fingers through his hair. Harry's eyes floated closed as the tension ebbed out of his body. Slowly she drew the wand up and little by little trimmed his hair, still leaving it a bit long, but at a much more manageable length. Ginny performed a quick refreshing charm. Harry shook his head experimentally, feeling the ease in which the shorter, albeit still a bit unruly, hair moved.

Ginny turned around to look at her handy work. Harry returned her smile and then experimentally ran his hand through his hair. Mrs. Weasley was warmed by the exchange.

As soon as Harry and Ginny had eaten the lunch Mrs. Weasley had forced on them, after grumbling about how thin they were, the pair headed outside.

Harry blinked as the bright mid-day sun assaulted his pupils. Ginny stopped and turned back to him where he was standing with his eyes closed.

"It is so bright," he said in amazement.

"I know," Ginny said laughing. "Doesn't it feel nice?"

Harry paused a moment, feeling the warmth on his skin before experimentally opening his eyes. "Yes... it does."

She laughed again before leading him off toward the pond. They sat on the edge of the dock dipping their feet in the cool water. Harry was more relaxed than Ginny had ever seen him. He leaned back angling his face so that the gentle warmth would cover it.

"I like it here," he said quietly, the only interruption to the tranquil silence surrounding them.

"Yeah, this is one of my favorite spots," Ginny replied allowing the tension that had become her constant companion over the last month to slowly lessen.

"I don't just mean this spot—well, yes I like it here, especially because it's so calm... and quiet. But your home..." He lost his words for a moment. Ginny pivoted slightly to read his expression, which was often much more telling than his somewhat limited verbal communication skills.

"I just... You are very lucky," Harry struggled to finish.

"Oh, I know. Trust me," Ginny replied softly.

"I... It's hard for me to accept that life can be this way," he said, gesturing vaguely.

"It can... It will be from now on."

Harry turned to her with unmitigated hope in his eyes. "I think the clothes helped, but I-I still feel... pressure, outside control. As if it would win if I stopped fighting it." Harry struggled to explain the odd feeling, like a dam holding the powerful flow of waters at bay.

"Good," Ginny replied, thankful for this moment, the calm in the middle of the storm.

"Ginny," a voice called from far off. Ginny cringed inwardly fearing her reprieve was at its end.

She and Harry turned to see Ron and Hermione stop a ways off. Harry stood and then surprisingly turned to offer her a hand to stand up. She took it eagerly and they headed toward Ron and Hermione.

"Let me guess, they want us inside?" Ginny asked pessimistically.

"Nah, we bought you a bit more time," Ron responded. Ginny didn't bother questioning how. "I thought you guys might be up for a little flying?" he asked hopefully.

Ron managed to rush Ginny off to the broom shed leaving Harry to follow Hermione to the makeshift Quidditich pitch. She watched as Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"The clothes look nice," Hermione commented softly.

"Uh... thanks," he said. The silence dragged on, but Harry watched as Hermione just stood there staring up at the sky, a pleasant calm expression on her face. "How did you think of it?" he asked after a while.

"Think of what? The clothes? Has it made a difference?"

"Yeah. It was a good idea. The compulsion is still there, but... somehow it's easier to fight." He shrugged.

"Hmm," she said, trying to compile this fact with all the others floating in her head. "I wonder..."

"You wonder...?" Harry asked, his curiosity apparent.

"Well, I've done a lot of research on house-elf history," Hermione started, carefully gauging Harry's reaction.

"Why?" Harry asked, slightly wary. No one cared about house-elves.

"Well, I'm Muggle-born, and while the idea of having house-elves seems normal to others, to me... well, it's slave labor. I think it's horrible the way wizards treat them."

Harry turned to her with new eyes.

"What?" she asked self-consciously.

"I can't decide if you all are... normal, and just seem strange to me because of—well, obvious reasons." Hermione's laugh cut him off.

"Or if we really are abnormal—just in a different way?" she asked, still laughing.

Harry only nodded in response.

"Trust me, Harry, this family is about as abnormal as they come, but perhaps kindness is not as abnormal as you think."

***

"Ron, what's gotten into you lately?" Ginny asked, with admiration and not accusation in her tone.

"What?" Ron asked, turning back to look at her as they entered the broom shed.

"You... you're acting differently. More... mature." The word felt funny on her tongue. "Is it Hermione?" she asked, waggling her eyebrows.

"Ginny…" He meant it to come out warningly, but knew it just sounded whiny.

"What? You've been great with Harry..."

"Yes, well," he said, getting flustered. "He saved you Ginny!" he said suddenly as he turned to face her, his voice rising. "He saved you, he brought you back after... after I failed."

"What? Ron?" Ginny asked, surprised by his outburst.

"That's twice now that I've failed to keep you safe."

"Ron, that's not your—"

"Don't try to tell me it's not my job. You're my baby sister it is imy/i job," he finished, looking away from her.

She sighed. "I was going to say it's not your ifault/i." He turned to glare at her, but Ginny was already there next to him enveloping in a tight hug. "Ron, please, no more blame... I'm back, we're safe."

****

"Look, Harry," Hermione said, pointing back toward the broom shed. Harry turned to watch a streak of red hair zoom out and over their heads. Ginny was laughing; the sound permeated to him as clearly as if she were standing next to him, striking more than just his ear drums. He watched her fly complicated routes, looping, diving, speeding, slowing… She seemed so... free.

Ron lumbered toward them, carting three more brooms.

"Show-off!" he shouted, although he was smiling. Ginny just smirked at him before gracefully returning to the ground.

"Ready to give it a try, Harry?" she asked. She started with the basics. Harry mastered the 'up' command as soon as Ginny encouraged him to be more forceful.

She reached out to adjust his grip while she explained the process. He seemed eager to get in the air. After a few successful attempts at hovering he was zooming through the air. Ginny watched in awe; to say he was a natural was a bit of an understatement. She then quickly took off after him.

"Wow." Hermione turned to see Professor Lupin approaching them from the house. Ron came back down to join them.

"I guess there are some things you are just born with," Lupin said wistfully. To Hermione's questioning expression he replied, "His father was an amazing flier, played Seeker."

Harry and Ginny had commenced in a game of cat and mouse, laughing and chasing. The three below watched the pair, and more poignant than ever was the feeling that the two in flight possessed a world unto themselves. They could not, nor would they dare attempt to force their way into the bubble that seemed to surround the pair. Somehow, when Harry and Ginny were flying above, the invisible barrier that engulfed them only seemed more distinct.

"It seems that part of you remembers flying... you know from before," Ginny said as the two pulled closer together to hover while they caught their breath.

He grinned, a less and less rare of an occurrence. "You fly a lot, don't you?"

"Well, yes," Ginny replied. And thus the Quidditch talk commenced. Harry watched, enraptured at her description of the game she loved. She gave animated descriptions of her teammates and past games punctuating it all with demonstrations and reenactments. Harry trailed after her toward the property's edge as she demonstrated a particularly difficult maneuver she had performed in order to dodge a Bludger, two Beaters and a Chaser in order to catch the Snitch.

Harry and Ginny both gave an abrupt stop as the alarm wards began going off. The alarm was jarring and heard clearly even throughout the yard. But what was more alarming was the crowd of people rushing forward toward the edge where the protective ward began. There was pushing in the crowd as the group reached the physical barrier that invisibly held them back.

Comprehension dawned on Ginny when half the crowd began snapping pictures. Ginny froze... reporters. They were taking pictures… did the ward block photos? They must know about Harry, and if they knew about Harry they probably knew about her as well.

When a few in the crowd pulled out wands, began firing spells, and screaming at the two of them, there was a visible ripple, as if the dome surrounding them was made of a transparent sheet that had just been ruffled, only visible in motion.

"Ginny," Harry said urgently.

"Ginevra! Miss Weasley!" came from the crowd, drowning out Harry's voice before it could reach Ginny's ears.

"Is it true that you named Lucius Malfoy responsible for your disappearance?"

"Do you maintain that you were captured and tortured by the prominent and trusted Malfoy family?"

The protective ward gave another great shudder which seemed to catalyze Harry's self-preservation instincts. He reached out and grabbed Ginny by the waist before snapping his fingers and disappearing with a 'pop.'

Ron, Hermione and Lupin had just gotten close enough to see the two pop out of existence over their heads, leaving only Ginny's broom behind, still hovering mid air.

"I thought we stopped him from doing that," Ron exclaimed exasperatedly.

"Stopped him from leaving..." Lupin said under his breath, keeping his eyes trained on the unwanted intruders. "But he can still Apparate within the boundaries." He waved his wand, and with a bored flourish, he strengthened the ward easily. He gave the crowd a sardonic look and then turned to lead Hermione and Ron back to the main house.

****

Mrs. Weasley gasped at the sudden appearance of her daughter in the foyer, cradled in a young man's arms. He put her down gently.

"Harry!" Ginny exclaimed in surprise.

"What? I-I… you...you were scared. We were not safe," Harry responded, confused by her reaction.

"So you brought us here? I didn't think you felt safe here yet," Ginny blurted out, still feeling disoriented.

As it was, Harry was glancing surreptitiously around. In their current location they were not protected from a single angle. Harry found himself desperately desiring a location without twenty different possible entrances. "I-I don't..." he said honestly. "But you do."

The moment hung in the air buoyantly before both the front and back doors opened and a slew of people rushed in. Ron, Hermione and Lupin came in through the back, and Mr. Weasley and Dumbledore through the front. Mrs. Weasley gasped in surprise, and Harry pulled Ginny protectively to him reaching his hand out in front of them in defense.

"I strengthened the ward," Lupin said, slightly out of breath.

"What!?" Mrs. Wesley demanded, confused by the sudden change of events.

"The press," Mr. Weasley said wearily. "They somehow got wind of it."

"I'd say," Ron replied with a touch of anger. "They're at the edge of the property."

Mrs. Weasley rushed to the window to see the flock of people still craning to get a glimpse into the house.

"The house is protected, but we haven't made it Unplottable yet," Dumbledore replied. "We were hoping to keep this quiet." He turned to Ginny and Harry. "We are going to have to move forward quite a bit faster than we had anticipated... But it looks as if a great deal of progress has been made in my absence," Dumbledore said after taking in Harry's dress. He then winked at Ginny, but Ginny was still a bit dazed by the sudden wrench thrown into her peaceful day.

Harry ducked his head a bit to peer quizzically into Ginny's unfocused eyes. Ginny blinked, refocusing her gaze onto Harry. She offered him a tight smile of reassurance, needing no words to understand the confused concern in his eyes.

"They got wind of it," she said quietly. "How much does iit/i entail?"

"Your claim that the Malfoys took you," Dumbledore supplied. "And that you didn't return alone..."

"My claim?" There was an eerie note in the calm overtone of her question. "Is that all they know? They don't know why I was taken or who it was I returned with?"

"I don't think they'd believe a rumor that you returned with ithe/i Harry Potter, Ginny," her father said carefully.

"As to why... do you know why exactly?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes, because of that damned diary again, and because they thought I made good leverage against all of you. They wanted some sort of information about Voldemort's past and thought if I didn't have it, then maybe one of you did."

"Let's not stand by so many windows," Mr. Weasley said, noting the Omnioculars the press now seemed to be conjuring. He gestured for them all to head into the living room, the most central room in the house.

"People from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement are on the way," Dumbledore said. "They will get the press off the property and arrest anyone attempting to break the wards."

Harry felt relieved at this. Ginny obviously had a strong dislike for the loud people at the gate. But the relief only went so deep as he shifted uncomfortably on the sofa next to Ginny, trying to get more of the room's occupants in his sights. There was too much going on, and his senses couldn't keep up; he did not like surprises. Ginny reached out and placed a soothing arm on his forearm, and then leaned back against the sofa just enough so that he could get a clear view of the other part of room as well as the quickest escape route.

Ginny watched as Harry visibly relaxed, and she wondered what was more helpful, her reassurance or his feeling that he was in a more defensible position. Her musing was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a head in the fireplace.

"Sorry for the intrusion, Molly," Kingsley's head was saying. "Would it be alright if a Floo'ed in? I have news."

It said a great deal about Harry's improvement that he remained seated, though he was shaking so hard that Ginny turned to him in concern.

"You are not afraid?" His voice barely reached her ears.

Ginny shook her head. "It's alright. That man is now going to join us. Brace yourself."

Harry dug his nails into the couch as the man came directly out of the flames and into the room. Ginny traced her arms over the now taut muscles of his forearms, urging him to relax.

"Harry?" she asked, too quietly to catch the rest of the room's attention.

"I am trying not to react to my fear," he said without inflection.

"It's okay, in your life new things weren't usually good."

He relaxed his hand, leaving a burnt handprint in the sofa. "Exactly," he replied. "Until you," he muttered, as if he hadn't meant to say it out loud.

Suddenly, Ginny noticed that the rest of the room had become silent. She looked up to see them all staring at her.

"Ginny," her dad started. "Harry, we have some stuff to talk about." Ginny wished for a split second that she was an average teenager who could just roll her eyes at her dad's evasiveness. "We have to ask, how certain are you that you were taken to the Malfoys' residence?"

"Is this about the Polyjuice?" Ginny asked.

"Yes, amongst other things," he said.

"Kingsley here…" Dumbledore said, gesturing to the man that looked powerful, even though he had bits of soot still on his face. "Well, he came here to tell me that he just found out that Bellatrix Lestrange managed to slip past the Healers who took custody of her when Lucius Malfoy's request that she be removed from Azkaban, in order for her to receive treatment for mental illness, was granted."

"I thought we already knew this," Ginny said.

"Yes, but it turns out that she escaped the Healers' custody less than two weeks ago. In your account of what happened to you. You encountered Bellatrix long before that."

"What? Maybe I got that dates confused. It wasn't exactly easy to keep track of the passing of time."

"But you met her not long after you were abducted, correct?" Dumbledore said gently.

Ginny nodded. "So you are saying that when I think I met Bellatrix, she was supposed to be in custody?" Her head was spinning. What if nothing she remembered was true?

Dumbledore nodded. "Which makes the possibility that it was not the Malfoys who had the both of you, but actually Vernon Dursley, seem more likely."

"Wait, I thought the Polyjuice Potion that was found was for Lucius Malfoy," Ginny said, trying to make sense of what he was saying.

"It was."

"So this theory would require that Vernon Dursely and several accomplices all played different Polyjuiced roles? Doesn't that seem far-fetched?"

"About as far-fetched as someone breaking the wards I had protecting Harry in order to kidnap him. I could not fathom how that could happen, not until the notion that one of Harry's very own family could be responsible, because, of course, that is how the wards work. They protect one unit from outside harm. For example, with the ward on the Burrow the one unit is the house, and it is protected from outside intrusion like the press. Now, if Lupin were to suddenly attack Kingsley there would be no way to stop it, and the wards would not even detect the struggle. With the wards on baby Harry, he was protected by being with his mother's relatives, protected from outsiders not from insiders. No one outside his family unit could harm him." Dumbledore suddenly looked his age. "I thought that the Dursleys' decision to take you in meant that they were willing to protect you—maybe not treat you as well as their own son, but willing to keep you safe from the enemies that stalked you."

Even Harry could feel Dumbledore's remorse. But he was more struck by Dumbledore's... involvement.

"I'm sorry, I'm confused..." Harry said quietly. But his sudden voluntary interjection into the conversation immediately caught the room's attention. "Who are you to me?" he asked, addressing Dumbledore.

They looked at him confused. "Harry what do you mean?" Ginny finally asked.

"Well... I... after my parents died, that man is the one who was put in charge of me. I had no other family? Was he a friend of my parents? I…" Harry's gaze remained with Ginny. Talking to her was so much easier, but finally he turned back to Dumbledore. "Why was it you were trying to protect me?"

"I thought Ginny had explained to you, about Voldemort and his followers," Dumbledore said gently.

"She did. The man my masters called the Dark Lord—this Voldemort—he killed my parents and tried to kill me, but then what happened?"

"A man named Hagrid brought you to me."

"Okay, but why you? Are we... who are you to me?"

"Harry," Lupin interjected, "Professor Dumbledore has led the fight against Voldemort from the start. Your parents were involved in a group he led in the fight against Voldemort and his followers."

"Was Voldemort after my parents? Is that why he killed them? Or was he after me?"

"He was after you, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly.

"But, I was a child...why?"

"Harry..." Dumbledore said placatingly.

"Why try to kill me? Why did the Malfoys, or whoever it was, go so far to make my life... painful?" Harry did not realize he had raised his voice. He did not have the skills needed to deal with the surprising amount of anger and frustration that had suddenly grown within him.

"Harry," Lupin said, stepping in to answer, "I'm so sorry you had to live like you did for so long."

The silence grew and then blanketed the room in a way that would be cozy on a cold day but was suffocating on a day as warm as this.

"I know this is hard, but we need whatever you two can remember," Kingsley said, filling the void. It appeared that Harry's questions were going to go unanswered for the moment.

"Like what?" Harry asked apprehensively.

"Well, did you ever encounter Bellatrix Lestrange?"

Harry's involuntary shudder was answer enough. "S-she… she's... well, I was really worried when Lucius invited Bellatrix over to see Ginny."

"Do you remember the first time you met her?" Lupin asked.

Harry's eyes glazed over for a moment before they clenched closed in pain. He was breathing harder than normal, and he pulled uncomfortably at the collar that was already loose against his neck.

"Harry?"

He opened his eyes immediately at Ginny's gentle prodding. "Yes, I remember."

"How old were you?"

"It was several years ago, at least five winters ago." The adults in the room all seemed to sit back at this; Bellatrix was in Azkaban, or supposedly in Azkaban then. "I remember it because... Lucius…" Calling him by name felt awkward in his throat, as if the word struggled against his will to utter it. "… well, he had become more than a little... unhappy, more so than usual. It was a hard time for all of us..." Harry said, closing his eyes as the memories of how his friends had tortured themselves. "Then one day it all changed... A new woman walked in, just walked in past all the wards and traps. Lucius acted like he was seeing a ghost."

"What do mean?" Lupin asked.

"Well, he was shocked. And the woman just sauntered in and walked right up to him and... well, she kissed him."

"What?" Ron asked. "I thought they were related."

"Bellatrix is Lucius' wife's sister. They're not related," Lupin said, but his tone held a bit of disgust. "Then what happened?" he asked trying to direct the conversation back to the matter at hand.

"After a moment, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back. He laughed, and then he just started asking her a lot of questions like, how, when... why... " Harry trailed off, their staring made him uncomfortable.

"How is it you remember this all so clearly?" Kingsley asked.

Harry was quiet for a long while. "Well...I just do..." he answered evasively.

"Harry," Lupin pressed, "we need to try to discern if your memories are accurate. Not knowing why you remember such details could be a sign that the memory was planted."

"It's not like that," Harry said after a minute. He sighed, looking away from the group. "Eventually Bellatrix and Lucius noticed me. I had gotten very good at blending in, being there without being seen, as the other elves had taught me. They…" He sighed. "They were brutal. It was a... game to them, testing my pain tolerance, seeing how far they could push me..." He closed his eyes and turned his head away as if trying to shield himself from whatever picture his memory had dragged up. "That whole day... it became a reoccurring nightmare." The silence was suffocating. "That is why I remember." His green eyes were stormy, betraying the deep seated conflict he always had to hide. Anger and sadness mixed inseparably in him, tinged with the persistent nagging notion that he deserved the treatment he had received.

Ginny wordlessly reached out and ran her thumb over the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist directly over his pulse point. The sensation hit him hard as heat pulsated from the point of contact. There was something about the juxtaposition of the simplicity of the touch and the degree to which it calmed him. She had unwittingly found one of the few places with which he had no painful memory associated.

"None of this makes sense," Ron whined in exasperation.

"Well, I'm sure it all makes sense, but we simply cannot see how," Dumbledore interjected. "So Harry, have you also met Narcissa, Lucius' wife?"

"Yes," Harry replied.

"And what have you witnessed of Narcissa and Bellatrix's interactions?"

Harry's brow furrowed a moment as he thought back, sifting through memories that he had hoped ignoring would make disappear.

"It wasn't until very recently that I saw the two of them together. They seemed to get on well enough... There was another woman, one Narcissa really disliked, but it's been a long time since I've seen her at all."

There was a commotion when Ministry workers arrived to deal with the press, succeeding in occupying the adults in the room.

Harry leaned back, resting his head on the coach and breathing deeply. He may have been able to overcome the restrictive force that was his constant companion, but it was not without effort.

"It's been a long day," Ginny said with an understanding smile. Without thinking she reached up and brushed his hair out of his face. His closed eyes popped open, and she froze, her hand still buried in place.

"I like having it short," he said.

"Good," Ginny responded. Harry's eyelids fluttered as he tried in vain to fight the exhaustion.

"Stop fighting it," she said with a barely suppressed laugh. "Just close your eyes and rest a bit. Don't worry, you are safe here, I promise."

"You know, I'm starting to believe that..." Harry said before sleep claimed him.


End file.
